


Who We Are

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marijuana, Mpreg, Russian Mafia, Same-Sex Marriage, Sex Magic, Smuggling, Torture, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is kidnapped and tortured. He is then rescued by DI Lestrade. With armed men after them and a hurt man on his hands, Greg does the only thing that he can think of. He goes home to his family where he knows that they’ll be safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bad Day

Mycroft lay face down on a cold cement floor. Someone still kicked him occasionally to let him know that he was not safe despite the boss’s orders that Mycroft had already had enough. They wanted him alive. If nothing else his value as a hostage was recognized.  
He knew that he was in a barn or some other outbuilding because he could smell rotted hay and manure. There were no sounds, not city life anyway. Crickets. An occasional bird in the distance. There were no other identifying smells, sounds, or sights.  
When the hood had come off he’d had a moment. Blinding white light from above. It had burnt like acid right into the center of his brain. Then, he was beaten severely. In his mind it was a haze. A barrage of fists and boots. The only grace had occurred when the pain resulted in blackness.  
He awoke by increments. At first he only smelled livestock. The taste of blood in his mouth. He was aware that he was face down surrounded by drying blood that had glued his clothes to wounded skin. His hands were bound ahead of him to something solid, probably a post of some kind. His hands were bound so tightly that his circulation was no doubt compromised. He didn’t have any feeling below the elbow or ankle.  
It was all rather primitive, but effective.  
They hadn’t bothered to question him yet. The beating was just to soften him up. There had also been cursing and spitting. He’d heard East Slavic and Russian spoken in addition to French and English. His best guess was that the majority of the men were Ukrainian. Just based on the fact that they had known where to find him and that they had been able to take him in broad daylight, he knew that there was a traitor…somewhere.  
Mycroft kept his mind off the pain by keeping his mind busy with other matters. He’d worked out six different possibilities as to who the traitor was. Also, he tried to devise what machinations might be afoot that would require Mycroft’s kidnapping. And more importantly, his being kept alive.  
It took him a while to realize that his mind was thick and slow. He was awake. His breathing was a bit shallow. It hurt to take a deep breath, probably broken or bruised ribs.  
A part of him hoped that he passed out. It was preferential to the bleary and thick thoughts trudging through his skull.  
He heard someone coming. Mycroft remained as still as possible.  
Something big and dull fell next to him causing Mycroft to jump.  
“Mycroft,” someone whispered.  
Mycroft held still. Something familiar tickled at the back of his mind. He was trying to work out that familiarity when someone began pulling at the ropes at his ankles.  
“Mycroft,” the voice hissed. “Wake up, mate!”  
Mycroft bothered to open his eyes. This was when he realized that his right eye was swollen shut. He could open his left, part way. But that side of his face was on the cement. He was in a bad place to see anything.  
“We gotta go, Mycroft.” The voice was make and near his head now. The ropes at his wrists were being worked.  
Mycroft groaned when the when the pain started in his hands and feet. Blood rushed to his starved fingers. Needles and pins stabbed at his extremities. It felt as if needles were being driven into his flesh. If it wasn’t for the pain, Mycroft wouldn’t have known that his fingers were still attached. But, the sensation of white hot, dullness made him wish that they were gone.  
“Mycroft, I need you up.”  
This time a pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up by handfuls of his shirt.  
Mycroft cried out in pain as he was pulled up to his knees.  
“I know, mate. I’m sorry.”  
It was the apology that brought him to greater confusion and awareness. He dared to look at the speaker. The man was carefully trying to pull Mycroft’s torn jacket off. It took him a few long and very slow moments to identify the man.  
Mycroft’s lips were swollen and his speech greatly effected. It didn’t sound like his voice when he finally managed to question. “Lestrade?”  
Mycroft saw Lestrade pull his jacket on another man. Blearily, he watched as the unconscious man was tied up.  
“Up,” Lestrade hissed.  
He was suddenly at Mycroft’s side. Lestrade raised Mycroft’s arm over his shoulder. The pain from abused muscles protested sharply.  
Mycroft groaned as his head fell listlessly. More pain from his neck and shoulders assaulted him until bile rose in his throat. Nausea billowed up until smarms of darkness blocked the light out.  
“We only have a few minutes,” Lestrade insisted. “I know it hurts, but you have to try to walk. If we get caught, we’re dead.”  
Mycroft made his best rendition of walking. He mindlessly lifted his knees in an effort to propel himself forwards. He couldn’t feel his feet. There was only pain. Despite his best efforts, Mycroft was sure that it was Lestrade that was providing the majority of Mycroft’s locomotion.  
The moment that they walked out of the overhead light, Mycroft was essentially blind. He had to trust the Detective Inspector completely.  
He was walked to something hard and horizontal, probably a wooden board. Mycroft put his useless arms up onto it in an effort to hold on.  
“Don’t fall,” was whispered to him.  
Lestrade was then gone.  
In the interim, Mycroft had far too much time to think about the pain coursing through is upright body. He felt broken like damaged meat hung onto bones filled with sand. His nerve endings were raw. His skin felt far too tight on his frame.  
“There’s a car.”  
Mycroft looked up blindly in the man’s direction.  
“I’m going to throw you in the back. Get down. Stay there.”  
Mycroft was again hauled on to the man’s strong shoulder. He tried his best to keep up, to move his legs in an appropriate manner.  
Soon there was cool air. The scent of wet hay and fresh horse manure filled his nostrils.  
“Watch your head,” Lestrade said pushing him forwards while shielding his head with a big hand.  
Mycroft fell in onto his knees and crawled in. He got down as best he could despite the immediate pain from his ribs. He couldn’t breathe in but kept down.  
A moment later the car engine was struggling to turn over. The second time the ancient ignition made a valiant attempt, Mycroft heard angry voices. Then several gunshots. Single shots. Hand guns. This was followed by the engine successfully turning. Someone cursed in East Slavic. Automatic weapon’s fire. The back window blew out just as the car began to move.  
Mycroft didn’t have time to brush the glass off of himself. He was thrown in several directions in very little time. His breathing was difficult at best. Eventually, he stopped fighting the inevitable and allowed the darkness to claim him.  
Pain woke him again. This time it wasn’t careless or brutal. Lestrade was lifting him to a sitting position.  
“Sorry.” Lestrade slide into the seat next to him. His solid body provided support. Mycroft took full advantage of that support. Finally, he found a position that allowed him to breathe in comfortably. He couldn’t take in a bull breath to save his life, but at least he was moving air in and out with greater proficiency.  
“Anything broken? I need to know.”  
“Ribs,” Mycroft murmured in such a way that it sounded more like, ‘wibs.’ “Pain,” he exhaled. He breathed in and breathed out the word, “Beaten.”  
“As long as it’s not permanent damage. There’s no pressure to move. We’re at my uncle’s farm. When you’re ready, I’ll take you inside so you can rest.”  
“Minute,” Mycroft said carefully.  
“Uncle Pippen said we can use the cottage.” Lestrade chuckled. “I told him that I brought a friend. He thinks we’re on a wild weekend of fun. Maurice is away so no one will bother us.”  
“Car,” Mycroft huffed.  
“Don’t worry. This won’t be the only stolen thing here. I’ll have Maurice take care of it when he arrives in a day or so. You should be well enough to travel by then.”  
“Go,” Mycroft squeezed out.  
“If you’re sure. I’ll come around and help you out.”  
Then his support was gone. Mycroft sagged uncomfortably. It was harder to take in air. Each precious amount had to be fought for. The door on his side opened. He was glad. Although he still had a numbed sensation below his ankles, he knew that there was precious little room in the back seat.  
“Swing your legs out.”  
Mycroft struggled to obey. It felt as if he was moving huge feet around in an enclosed space. Lestrade had to help him accomplish the task.  
“On three, you are going to stand.”  
Lestrade grabbed a good handful of Mycroft’s belt and pants.  
“Three,” Lestrade said pulling.  
Mycroft felt himself pulled and then held up. He felt like a gangly fawn with no idea what to do with it’s legs. Without the Detective Inspector, he wouldn’t have gone far.  
“Hold on to me,” Lestrade said moving him away. “I’ll cover the car with a tarp and some hay later.”  
Mycroft felt sunlight and could see it through his closed lids. The breeze was cool.  
He ventured to open his eyes. His left was still the only eye that he had available. It had swollen worse. Now he had a pea sized opening. Though he was sure that there was sufficient light, his sight was bleary.  
Mycroft shut his eye and had to trust Lestrade would lead him.  
Eventually, the man said, “There are four steps.”  
Mycroft struggled upon shaky legs and weak knees. Lestrade still provided his support.  
He was led into a structure that smelled of old wood. A musty smell in the air spoke of age. There was an herbal smell beneath it that he couldn’t identify. The smell of gun oil and moth balls finished off the ambiance.  
Lestrade put Mycroft’s hands up on to a threshold saying, “I’m just going to turn down your bed. You’ll breathe better sitting up.”  
Mycroft followed Lestrade’s voice as he moved around the room.  
“I’ve had broken ribs a few times. Never fun. We’ll wrap you up. Ice you down. I’m going to get some of Uncle Pippen’s special anti-inflammatory tea. By tomorrow morn you’ll be right as rain.”  
Lestrade was at his side taking him by the hand. “Nice and easy.”  
Lestrade chuckled suddenly. “Errant thought. Sherlock’s going to kick himself. He wasn’t here. He could be doing all the talking and you can’t answer back.”  
Mycroft managed a snort. He was sorry. It was enough to flare enough pain that he had to stop. He breathed once he was able to do so.  
A few moments later, Mycroft began moving his feet again.  
He was turned to one side.  
“The bed’s behind you. Just sit.”  
Lestrade took Mycroft’s hands and effectively allowed Mycroft to use him the support he needed to lower himself. There was minimal jarring to his ribs. Lestrade directed him back against a large pillow. As he rested back he felt the support all the way to his neck. He realized it was a lounge pillow, much like the one he had at home. He used it to sit up and read in bed every night. Confidently, he adjusted himself and settled in. Smaller pillows were then strategically placed around him.  
“I’ll be back with ice.”  
It only took a moment for Mycroft to drift off to sleep.


	2. The Lestrade Clan

When Greg returned, Mycroft was asleep. A part of Greg wanted to rush forwards and wake him. Given the severity of his wounds a concussion was entirely probable.  
Greg walked into the room and set down the big bowl of towel wrapped ice bags. Greg proceeded to make Mycroft more comfortable. He removed the very expensive and very scuffed shoes. He removed the man’s socks and revealed a concern. His ankles were bruised and swollen. He expected that from the ropes he’s been tied down with. But, his toenails were blueish.  
“Mycroft! Wake up!”  
Mycroft startled awake.  
“Wiggle you toes, right now!”  
To his relief Mycroft was able to manipulate his toes.  
“Can you feel your feet?”  
“Not much,” Mycroft gasped.  
“We’ll deal with that.”  
Greg noticed the dirt and blood crusted damage to Mycroft’s woolen trousers.  
“Does your knee hurt?”  
“Everything.”  
Greg didn’t like the idea of moving the man any more than was needed. Instead of helping him off with his trousers. Greg reached down for the tear and ripped it open. Underneath he found that his knee was skinned badly and quite swollen.   
Greg moved up to the man’s once white, long sleeved shirt. He removed the expensive cufflinks. Carefully, Greg rolled up the sleeves. He expected the wrists to be badly bruised. The fingers were bruised and dirty. On closer inspection, Greg noticed that at least two finger nails on each hand had a blue tinge.  
“They really did it to you, didn’t they?” Greg sighed. “I have to go see Uncle Pippen. I’ll be right back. Try not to fall asleep. I know you’re tired, but you could have a concussion.”  
Before leaving, Greg strategically placed towel wrapped, ice bags on Mycroft. One at each ankle, wrist, and one on his face.   
Greg left the cottage and cut across the crop field to the main house.  
He wasn’t surprised to find Uncle Pippen on his back porch. Even from a distance, he could see that the man was fast asleep in his rocking chair. He was leaned off to one side slightly, head tilted back. His mouth was open. In one hand he had a wine bottle and in the other a mug.  
Greg stepped up onto the farm house’s wooden step and made his way to his uncle’s side. The mug was at a precarious angle, so he relieved his uncle’s limp hand of it and set it on a the little table just to one side.  
The action woke his uncle Pippen.  
“Ugh,” the man exhaled sharply. “Morning.”  
“It’s afternoon,” Greg responded leaning to kiss each bearded cheek. “I’m sorry to wake you. You looked comfortable.”  
The man shrugged uncaring. “Is your man settled? I can make a nice dinner?”  
“I know you can, but I don’t want to put you through the bother-  
“No bother! You know how I like to cook.”  
“I know and I saw the paté and bread that you left for us. Thank you, but Michel isn’t feeling well.”  
“Is it the travel?”  
Greg contemplated lying for a moment.  
He was quiet for a moment to long which made his uncle’s bushy eyebrows twitch. “He got caught by the wrong people.” Greg shrugged. “Business.”  
His uncle humped. A second later, he asked, “Does he need a doctor?”  
“I don’t think so. If I think he’s in trouble, I’ll take him somewhere. For now, I don’t think anything’s broken or hemorrhaging.”  
Pippen reached for his mug. He swirled the contents saying, “Keep an eye. If he gets bad I have an English Retiree. I keep him on retainer.”  
“Retainer,” Greg repeated amused.  
“He treated Maurice and an associate when there were some problems. He has stage four cancer and he knows we grow organic.”  
“Good to know, but right now I’d like some of your tea and a little oil.”  
Pippen pointed with his mug saying, “The first kit on the shelves as always.”  
“Thank you.”  
Before Greg could leave, Pippen added, “Grab some condoms while you’re there. Some lube too. You can never have too much of either.”  
Greg didn’t answer.  
He entered the house and headed towards Maurice’s work shop in the basement. Racks of drying herbs were in the same place that they’d been in for forty years.  
Once upon a time, Uncle Pippen had a cigarette rolling machine in addition to big tables they had used to process the herb. His uncle had offered his loyal customer base the option of various size bags, teas, wine, pre-rolled cigarette, and hash. Maurice had taken that little customer base and had built upon it by expanding his product line. He started by making wax concentrates for the college crowd. But it wasn’t until the medical user demand began that the business really grew.  
Gone were the little bags of herb. In their place were industrial shelves of attractively packaged goods: concentrated oils, encapsulated oils, and lotions. At the other end were refrigerators full of edible cannabutters and hard candies that had been created for their target audiences.   
Greg shook his head. He noticed the condoms and the lube sitting on a shelf. Both heavily dosed with mood mellowing cannabis oil.  
Greg’s shopping was simple. He picked up a clear baggie with five black English tea bags labeled ‘anti-inflammatory.’ Then, he picked up a half ounce jar of oil concentrate and a two ounce bottle of pain relieving lotion. And several pairs of latex gloves.  
He left Maurice a note detailing what he took so that his cousin’s inventory wouldn’t be off.   
Greg walked back up the stairs.  
His uncle was in the kitchen. He greeted Greg by saying, “Take some eggs. A nice omelet for dinner. Easy to chew. Maybe you can get it into him.”  
“You’re too good to us.”  
Pippen came away from the refrigerator with four eggs and a small pint of milk. He offered them saying, “English people and their tea. I’ll never understand.”  
Pippen leaned in and said, “Make sure he knows that he’s welcome. When he’s better, see if he’d like a nice ratatouille?”  
Greg put his medical supplies in his pockets so that he could take the bowl of eggs and the milk. Greg hugged the shorter man with one arm, and said, “I love you, old man. It’s good to be home again.”  
“You should come more. Bring your man. You know I put on a good table.” Suddenly, remembering, Pippen said, “Make sure you grab some condoms and some lube.”  
Greg smiled. “Got them. I’m going to go so you can rest. Eat something.”  
“I have some leftover pasta. The doctor won’t let me smoke anymore.”  
“Is it made with cannabutter?”   
“Works just as good, but it’s not as satisfying as smoking a bowl.”  
Greg could only smile and shake his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
He left the house and walked back to the cottage. He set the bowl of eggs and the milk in the refrigerator. And, he set the kettle on a low flame.  
Greg walked right to the bedroom.  
“Mycroft?” he wasn’t sure where he could safely touch the man without bringing him pain. “Mycroft?”  
Mycroft roused enough to move.  
Greg began taking away the ice packs saying, “I’m going to put some oil on your face and a little lotion in other places. Would you like a nice cuppa? How does that sound?”  
Mycroft made a little grunt sound in his throat.  
“I have quite a bit to tell you.”  
Greg pulled out the latex gloves and put them on. Next, he took out the oil concentrate and started to gently dab it on Mycroft’s face.  
“It seems that my Uncle Pippen has taken quite a liking to you. No, he hasn’t met you, but he’s so glad that you’re here. Ever since my first girlfriend he thinks I make poor choices when it comes to women. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to prove him wrong.”  
Carefully, he dabbed near the most swollen parts of Mycroft’s eyes. The kettle whistled. It pulled him away from his task.  
Greg didn’t take long to make a nice milky cup. He brought it back for Mycroft.  
As he had Mycroft take a few sips of the warm tea Greg said, “I had a boyfriend once. Uncle Pippen is convinced that I pick better boyfriends and should be with a man. That’s why he just loves you.”  
Greg stopped talking then and concentrated on dabbing near the swollen and cut lips. Mycroft moaned and pulled away a few times.  
“I know. I’m sorry. It really will make it better.”  
When he was done and the thick, brownish oil had darkened Mycroft’s face, Greg stopped to inspect. He found a goose egg on the side of Mycroft’s head. Then, he found that Mycroft’s left ear was black and swollen.  
He took his time dabbing the swollen ear. Mycroft hissed and pulled away a few times. But, Greg was relentless because he knew that tomorrow Mycroft would be that much better.  
Mycroft put the oil away and picked up the lotion.  
“Uncle Pippen sent us fresh eggs.”  
“I’m thinking of having bread and paté for dinner. I doubt you’ll be able to stay awake. For breakfast I’ll definitely make us eggs. He left grapes, apples, and figs in the fruit bowl. If you still can’t chew, I’ll make you a compote.  
Greg scooped out oil concentrate with his finger and smeared it into the palm of his gloved hand. He poured a good amount of lotion out and carefully mixed the two together between his gloved hands. Once he had a darker cream he began rubbing it across each appendage.  
It was because he was worried about Mycroft’s feet that he concentrated on rubbing the man’s feet. He moved carefully from one foot to another. He gently rubbed the lotion into and in-between each toe.   
“He’d like to cook. Uncle Pippen is a very good cook. No one can make a ratatouille quite like he can.”  
He continued soothing in the medicine.  
“I want you to get your appetite. Because if I get a chance I want to make you rabbit. I like making it when I’m here. I braise it in wine and rosemary. It’s really good. I think you’ll be impressed.”   
Greg still had Mycroft’s foot in his hand when he realized that Mycroft’s breathing had eased out.  
“Good.”  
He dug out a little more concentrate and began smearing it as gently as possible on Mycroft’s skinned and swollen knees.  
“Hopefully, you wont feel this tomorrow. I’ll just be a bad dream.”  
When Greg was finished, he carefully pulled off the gloves and threw them away.  
He covered Mycroft carefully with a blanket and let him be.  
~~~~~  
Greg was asleep on the couch when he heard a careful knocking on glass that brought him immediately awake. He opened his eyes to find Maurice standing at the cottage door waiving at him. He had his hunting cap on, it was enough for Greg.  
Greg got up stiffly and stretched.  
He wandered over to the door and opened it.  
Quietly, Greg said, “Just let me wash up. I prepared the rifles last night.”  
Maurice looked at the dining table. “Air rifles?”  
“Myc’s sleeping,” Greg explained as he wandered away.  
He relieved himself and washed up rather quickly. He didn’t even refresh his deodorant reasoning that he could handle personal hygiene upon his return. In any case, he’d come back sweaty, and muddy. A quick shower. A change into some borrowed clothes and he’d feel much better.  
They walked out together and immediately fell into step.  
“I didn’t want to wake you so early. Papa told me you brought company.”  
“Not that kind of company.”  
“Papa will be heart broken.”  
“And that’s why I didn’t tell him.”  
They rounded the barn and found a place behind the tractor. Two rabbits were down in the goat pasture.  
“White on the left,” Maurice said.  
“White and black with the shifty eyes,” Greg said raising his rifle.  
They both aimed and fired.  
Two hits.  
“Nice one,” Greg announced.  
They began together towards the goat pasture. They easily fell into step together.  
“Tell me about the stolen car under the tarp and hay?”  
“Actually,” Greg admitted. “I don’t know who those blokes were. Other side of the valley. Near old man Marchand’s place.”   
“Fuck,” Maurice hissed as he came to an abrupt stop. He faced his cousin as he said, “I was hoping this was all some awful coincidence.”  
“No such thing,” Greg said confidently. “Did I just fuck you over?”  
“I got a call in the middle of the night. Seems some asshole broke onto some secret compound that the fucking Russians were guarding. Something about a political kidnapping gone wrong.”  
“I came down smuggler’s road from Mt. Savo. No one knows that I’m here.”  
“Anyone see you your face?”  
“No one what can talk.”  
Maurice quirked an eyebrow. He started moving towards the dead rabbits. “Been a while since you’ve talked like that. You must really like this guy.”  
“Tell me the truth. Have I put you in danger?”  
“Not if you help me move the car. I’ll accidentally find it at the Pernault farm. Old lady Pernault’s been dead for a week. No harm.”  
“Oh, I’m to sorry to hear.”  
“Why? She was evil bitch!”  
“I’m not brain dead. I remember, but maman always said not to talk ill of the dead.”  
“I’ll mourn her properly when that old bat returns my football.”  
“That wasn’t all she took. Everyone hated her.”  
Greg picked up his rabbit and studied it. “Right through the eye.”  
“This is a good opportunity to borrow money,” Maurice declared as he secured his rabbit.  
It took Greg a moment. “Do you mean from the guys that are trying to kill me at the moment?”  
Greg held open his bag and put his rabbit inside.  
“They also have a bounty on both your heads,” Maurice informed him.  
“How much?”  
“A million a piece.”  
Greg snorted. “I’m tempted to turn myself in.”  
“Me too,” Maurice said fondly.  
Greg peered at him.  
“But I wouldn’t,” Maurice said dutifully. “Who’d cook dinner?” He handed Greg the rabbit. “These don’t skin themselves.”  
“You big puss!” Greg said grabbing the scruff of his cousin’s neck and shaking him.   
A second later, Maurice pushed Greg away declaring, “Ham fisted homo!”  
~~~~~  
Mycroft woke with a full bladder. He hurt. His ribs were still bothering him, but not as badly as he expected after such an experience. Miraculously, his eyes weren’t swollen shut.   
He worked his way slowly to a standing position and then hobbled his way towards what he thought might be a bathroom. He got it on the first try.  
He carefully worked his trousers and pants down. When he finally got down to a sitting position it was a great relief.  
When he was finished. He went to the sink and was amazed. There was a heavy bruising, but most of the swelling was gone. His ear and left side were the worst. Still it was much better than he thought.  
The thick, sticky oil that Gregory had put on him made his face look dirty, but Mycroft left it, despite his desire to clean up. He merely rinsed out his mouth.  
Then, he returned to bed.  
Despite his work habits of a lifetime, Mycroft managed to fall asleep again.   
The second time, he awoke to the smell of something very good cooking. He smelled meat. Game meat. And good wine. Herbs. Rosemary perhaps.   
He smiled a little, just until the skin on his lip pulled. Still, he enjoyed the moment.   
As he lay there, he heard someone moving around on the wooden floors. Eventually, those footsteps walked towards his direction.  
“I thought you might be up.”  
Mycroft opened his eyes to a beautiful sight. Detective Inspector Lestrade was holding a breakfast tray that held a delicate looking tea pot.   
He walked over barefoot. His hair was still wet and spiky.  
“I’m jealous,” Mycroft said. “You look quite refreshed.”  
The tray was set for Mycroft.   
“Late brunch,” Greg declared. “It’s almost noon. You needed the sleep.” Greg picked up an already prepared mug and held it out to him saying, “I wasn’t sure if your hands might be sore.”  
Mycroft carefully accepted the mug in his hands. He made sure that he could hold it before pulling it towards him. “It would seem that I’m well. Or at least, far better than I expected. Thank you.”  
Greg pulled a chair near by and sat. “Let’s see. Where do I start? Good news first. Maurice and I shot rabbit. It’s braising as we speak.”  
“Yes. A most endearing way to wake.”  
“Now, the not so great news. There are bounties of a million a piece on each of us.”  
“And, who may I ask is paying the bounty?”  
“Russians.”  
“How very interesting. I don’t suppose you have specifics?”  
“Maurice will give you all the names you like over dinner. The guy’s aren’t popular. They’ve been playing heavy handed with a lot of people.”  
“Is the car well hidden?”  
“We already ditched it. Maurice is trying to claim the reward after finding the car. They won’t pay. I just hope that they don’t hurt him.  
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. The trick to dealing with most Russians is to appear to be dealing straight with them. Is your cousin a good liar?”  
“The best,” Greg insisted.  
“Then he should come back quite well. These eggs look good.”  
Mycroft ate with a spoon because he was afraid of injuring his already damaged lips. He found that he had to guide the spoon in since he could open his mouth only so far.  
“Mycroft, they’re rather angry.”  
“One million pounds. Whatever did you do, Detective Inspector?”  
Greg didn’t answer immediately.  
When Mycroft finished chewing, he asked, “I’m genuinely curious about a great many things actually. How did you know I’d been taken? How did you find me? How did you get in unseen? How did you get us out?”  
“Sherlock and John were following you on a case. I came on an non-official capacity to make sure they didn’t do something…unfortunate.”  
“You can say infinite cock up. At this point, I can set the expletives to music.”  
Greg smirked. “We split up at one point. They found out that you might be a target and that you were in Paris. The moment I heard Doron Valley, I came home and took the high ground. I watched them drive in.  
“Sorry it took so long. I walked in. It took time to get the sentries. As for getting out. That’s my backyard. I know all the short cuts. Maman sent me to my uncle every summer. She was afraid that I’d fall in with the wrong people.”  
“One last question,” Mycroft spooned up more of his eggs. “Is the rabbit going to taste as good as it smells?”  
“No. Better. That’s for dinner though.” Greg got up. “Now, finish eating. I have some clothes for you. You’re going to shower. Then, we’re going to treat those bruises on the rest of you.”  
Mycroft stopped chewing. He only realized it when Greg had gone and the door was closed. After, he ate and drank considerably slower.  
The Detective Inspector returned with a plain, white cotton shirt and a pair of chinos. He hung them in the bathroom.  
“Nothing fancy. The pants might be a bit big. I hope that the inside leg is long enough. Maurice has long arms like you. The shirt should be fine.”  
“I appreciate your efforts.”  
“Do you think that you can stand up for an entire shower? I can draw you a bath?”  
Calculating the odds that he could get up out of the tub on his own, Mycroft said, “I’d rather have a shower.”  
Greg walked to the night stand and showed Mycroft the lotion bottle and the little jar. He held up the lotion saying, “Regular.” And then held up the little jar saying, “Extra strength.”   
Greg walked both into the bathroom.  
“Up,” Greg encouraged. “You’re going to start attracting flies.”  
Mycroft was helped up.  
“I can wash myself,” he insisted.  
“Hope so,” Greg responded. “I don’t usually lather up my friend’s bums. But, if you need me, call.”  
Greg walked away confidently enough. But he stayed close by.  
About six minutes after the water shut off, he heard his name called out weakly. Greg rushed to the bathroom door. He reached up for the sardine can opener that had been sitting up over the threshold. He pushed it into the lock and turned.   
Mycroft looked into the mirror surprised. “That was quick.”  
Greg smiled and held up the key.  
“Is that a can opener?”  
“At this point, it’s safe to call it a family heirloom.” Greg replaced it over the doorway. “No such thing as a locked door while maman was alive. Made jerking off a real challenge.”  
Mycroft was bare-chested. His trousers were opened and hanging low.  
Mycroft lifted the lotion bottle saying, “I can’t get my back. I tried and felt as if I was about to pass out.”  
“Just breathe,” Greg said reaching into his jean pocket for a pair of latex gloves.  
He carefully smoothed the lotion across Mycroft’s freckled and pale skin. He went slow and tried to be as careful as possible. He concentrated on covering the dark patches of skin. He could actually make out shoe impressions against that skin.  
When he was done, Greg ungloved and re-wrapped Mycroft’s ribs.   
Greg reached for Mycroft’s borrowed shirt and helped him finish dressing.  
“Come outside with me.”  
“Is that wise?”  
“We’re on the back of the property, behind a field and lots of trees. Few people even know that the cottage is here. And, it’s a beautiful day.”  
They walked out side. Both were barefoot. The wood beneath their feet was warm. And the day was the type of perfect French spring day that’s often read about and over romanticized in art.  
Mycroft wasn’t easily shocked. Today, Gregory managed it. The front door opened to a bright green field. It took a moment to realize that the green was that of marijuana plants.   
Seeing his shocked face, Greg realized and asked, “Did I forget to mention that Uncle Pippen and Maurice grow weed?”  
Mycroft remained silent.  
He turned to Greg.  
“Well, at this point, Uncle is retired. The business is run by Maurice.”  
“That is what you’ve been rubbing on me. You get drug tested. You have to wear gloves.” It took him a moment. “No wonder I’m so…relaxed.”  
“Yeah. Shame really. Uncle Pippen grows the best organic in the western hemisphere. He still makes his own wine. Ages it after soaking buds in the fresh press. I miss that.”  
Greg lead Mycroft to an over stuffed chair.  
“Thought this would be comfortable.”  
Greg helped Mycroft down into the chair.  
Greg then dropped down into a nearby hammock and stretched out with a loud rolling grunt.  
A moment later, Mycroft asked, “Should I prepare myself for any further surprises?”  
“Uhh, Uncle Pippen thinks we’re out here fucking like bunnies. Don’t disappoint him.”  
“Is that some kind of a joke, Detective Inspector?”  
“I’m very hung. Long lasting endurance. Excellent follow through, and significant power.”  
“Sounds like an advertisement for one of those ridiculous and inefficient American trucks.”  
“French made,” Lestrade answered proudly.  
Mycroft looked around. “Well, this is the place on earth that I would or could picture myself. Who exactly would look for me here?”


	3. All together, Facing Adversity

Sherlock was behind the wheel of the jeep they had rented.  
This isn’t a car! It’s luggage!” Sherlock growled. “I need leg room!  
“So you’ve said already…several times.” John dropped the map. “There’s nothing here. Maybe you’re remembering wrong.”   
Sherlock pulled the car over to the side of the road. He turned his head to John.  
The heavy silence was broken by John. “Right. I heard it and I’m not in the mood for an emotional blood letting. Can we pretend it never happened?”  
“But it did.”  
“Not if we pretend.”  
“How can I?”  
“You try real hard.”  
“No, John-  
“Sometimes you just have to pretend that people didn’t say that stupid thing, Sherlock.”  
“No, John. There, Look!”  
Sherlock pointed down the winding road further down the mountain side. An old, beat up truck slowly hobbled over rocky terrain and out onto the pavement. The truck sped away and was soon gone.  
“Not on the map. Middle of no where. Do you think that’s the smuggler’s road?” John said lightly.  
Sherlock moved their jeep closer.  
He turned into the unpaved road and then stopped the vehicle.  
Sherlock pointed into the thick under brush that helped conceal the road.   
A quick scan with his sharp eyes and he was able to point at something that would have easily been otherwise missed.   
“The post,” Sherlock said pointing. “It’s a traveler’s mark. A cross made from double arrows. It’s a pagan symbol for good luck.”  
With that Sherlock began the careful journey along the rocky, ancient road. They drove at ten miles and hour carefully avoiding tire dead falls that could have crippled their vehicle. As they traveled along, the road took them dangerously close to the edge of the mountain, several times. John even moved closer to Sherlock, shifting his weight away from the side of the car nearest the edge.  
As few times they thought that they’d even lost their way and wandered off the road. There were no signs. There was no one to ask. Just them and two slightly worn tire tracks in a weed over grown, rocky path.  
The road shifted many times until they didn’t even know which direction they were traveling in. The only constant was travel at a steady grade downwards the face of the mountain.  
They drove around a large pile of boulders. Sherlock stopped. They stood at the mouth of a large cave.  
“There doesn’t seem to be a turn off,” John said looking off into the wilderness.   
Sherlock didn’t even bother to look to the sides. He stared into the dark maw in front of them without saying a word. He drove forward.  
The passage was narrow at first but then opened up. It began to slope down until it became rather steep. The air went from slightly damp to moist. Soon the sound of rushing water grew until it filled the space.  
Suddenly, there were lights in the darkness.  
“Would you happen to know the names of Lestrade’s family?”  
John thought quickly. “Maurice, is his cousin’s name. I’m sure that he’s told me his uncle’s name, but I don’t remember at the moment.”  
The lights ahead turned into several cars parked next to an underground river. A boat was being loaded. The men loading stopped and watched them approach.   
“Right. We are seriously out gunned and out manned.”  
“Do nothing,” Sherlock said simply.  
Sherlock turned his lights off as not to blind the men ahead. There seemed to be enough lights near their work site to illuminate the area.   
Sherlock stopped the car, leaned out, and in French crisply declared, “I want to pass! I have business with Maurice Lestrade!”  
One of the men standing in their way with a rifle in his hands made a jerking motion indicating for them to pass. No one put their weapons away.  
Sherlock and John kept their eyes to themselves as they passed.  
Once in the dark again John turned in his seat and stared back at the receding lights. “What do you think they were transporting?”  
“From the looks of it, boot leg alcohol.”  
“Christ, where are we?”  
“Apparently, I’ve completely misjudged Lestrade. Apparently, he’s much more interesting than I thought.”  
“I hate to sound judgmental, but do you suppose that his family are criminals?”  
“I hope so. Otherwise, this won’t be any fund.”  
~~~~~  
Mycroft was lounging. It was a thing that he rarely did. It was so rare, in fact, that he couldn’t think of a time when he had last indulged.  
Greg had found him a pair of dark glasses when the light had started to hurt his bruised eyes. He was still quite barefoot. There was a cool drink on the little table at his side.  
Normally, he’d have been twitching with boredom. The machinations and intrigue of government were the only thing that had really captured his mind in years.   
He did occasionally think of it, but mostly he watched Gregory sleep. He lay in his hammock fast asleep. His arm thrown over his head. No care in the world. The man was simply the most relaxed and at ease person that he’d ever known.   
It was pleasant. He felt content. A part of him was even at ease despise the fact that he didn’t know what had happened in England or the world since he’d been taken.  
A part of him couldn’t wait to get back to it. Habit demanded routine. But, while he was in danger, it was best to remain.   
And so he could while away his time in this place at that time. He could simply watch the handsome Detective Inspector sleep with out repercussions or recriminations.  
It was nice.  
At least it was, until a dusty jeep turned onto a dirt road leading out of no where to the cottage’s front door.  
Lestrade bothered to open an eye. He rolled over just enough to see when Sherlock and his pet doctor stepped out of the jeep. They bounded up the steps to the porch.  
“We’re here to rescue you,” John declared good naturedly with a big smile.  
“You’re a day late, mate. That was yesterday.” Lestrade settled back and waved a hand. “But, you might want to look him over.”  
Mycroft lowered his dark glasses to reveal his still somewhat swollen eyes.  
“How bad?” John asked instantly in doctor mode.  
“Bruised ribs, multiple bruises. Nothing so terrible. There’s rabbit for dinner.”  
“Is that what that amazing smell is? Do you think that you can get up?”  
Mycroft reached out for the man and braced himself. Between them they managed to get him upright.  
“Aside from the discomfort, I’m fine, Doctor Watson.”  
But Mycroft allowed himself to be led inside to the inevitable examination.  
Sherlock strolled to the vacated chair and sat. He crossed his leg at the ankles and steepled his fingers.   
“How interesting,” Sherlock stated. “A by-the-book MET Detective that comes from a family of thieves.”  
“My family aren’t thieves.”  
“Criminals then.”  
“Only sometimes.”  
Are we having this discussion surrounded by a marijuana field?”  
“It’s legal.”  
“Only for personal medical use.”  
“And my uncle has a permit.”  
“And he’s to smoke the field on his own?”  
“No, my cousin distills the plant oils to treat people who need it. Like your brother, for instance.”  
The smirk on Sherlock’s face faltered slightly.  
“He was there for two hours getting the crap kicked out of him. Went as fast as I could, but the short cuts around here are for stealth not quick movement.”  
“We noticed.” Sherlock stared out into the field for a time, eventually he said, “Thank you.”  
“Now that you’re here you’re going to be stuck for a day or two. Then, we can leave.”  
“Did something happen?”  
Greg shrugged. “We took a getaway vehicle and there’s a bounty on our heads. The Russian mob-  
“Russians!” Sherlock jumped out of the chair, pacing. There’s always something!” He turned suddenly and demanded, “And?”  
“They want us dead. By now everyone knows what Mycroft looks like. Best to stay and let Maurice lure them away. Then, we leave.”  
Greg stood up from the hammock. He put his hands in his pockets and took two steps towards Sherlock. “Let’s go inside. I need to check on dinner.”  
“I don’t eat while I’m working!”  
“You’re not working,” Greg explained. “You stick out like a sore thumb. There would be questions.”  
Sherlock looked at his feet and admitted. “Six men were loading a boat with bootleg alcohol, fake labels. They were armed, rifles mostly, one shot gun. Locals most likely. I told them that I was doing business with your cousin Maurice. They let us pass.”  
Greg thought for a few long moments. Finally, he said, “I need to talk to Maurice about this. Meanwhile, you don’t go anywhere or do anything other than sit for dinner.”  
“Food,” Sherlock said accusingly. “Why is always about food? It’s better not to eat.”  
“English food? I’d have to agree, but this is French braised rabbit. It’s completely different.”  
Greg walked in and went to the small kitchen. He heard Sherlock pacing and complaining on the porch, as he checked on the food.  
“Good news,” Mycroft said walking in. “I shall live.”  
“Excellent,” Greg said handing Mycroft a bowl of potatoes. “Cover with foil. We’re going to walk up to the house for dinner.”  
Lestrade grabbed two pot holders and opened the oven. He reached in and pulled out a clay baking dish. He set it on the oven and opened it just to see how it had turned out.  
“That looks good,” John said at his side.   
Greg nudged John saying, “Get the bread over there. Uncle Pippen’s making ratatouille.”   
Greg secured the hot clay pot and walked towards the door.  
“Don’t worry about locking the door,” Greg shot back behind him. “I don’t even know if there are any keys.”  
They headed into the bright green field of marijuana and directly towards the big house. Up ahead the lights were on. Uncle Pippen had even lit candles in the windows. The sun was still setting, but it was still a gesture.   
“It’s family tradition to light candles welcoming guests. We’ve always done it.”  
“I can smell the ratatouille from here,” John said happily.  
They all clamored onto the wooden porch and through the opened back door. The kitchen was full of wonderful smells. Uncle Pippen stood at the center like a maestro.   
“I have truffles!” he declared triumphantly.  
“No!” Greg said happily.  
“Mrs. Child’s hip was acting up. She traded a few ounces for some green.” Pippen unlatched the food processor cup from the machine. He opened it and held it out. “I made truffle butter. The rest is in with the eggs. Tomorrow we eat truffle perfumed eggs!”   
Mycroft hijacked the processor cup filled with truffle and butter so that he could stick his nose into it. He inhaled the deep, murky scent of the truffle and groaned at the decadence of it.   
“Dear God,” he whispered reverently.   
“Michel,” Pippen greeted happily. “You are most welcome to our home.”  
And then he was completely embraced by the man’s long arms.  
“Ribs!” Greg quickly called out before Pippen could tighten around Mycroft.   
“Yes,” Pippen said pulling away. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to harm you, Michel.”  
“It’s fine. I’m very glad to meet you as well, sir. Greg is very frond of talking about you. He’s very proud of his family.”  
“That’s because that’s all there is at the end. And this is your brother?” Pippen asked pointing at John.  
“No, the one that looks even less like me is my brother. This is his partner-in-crime, John.”  
“Yes,” Pippen said shaking hands. “I see you both in the news. The famous detective who solves crimes. They say you’re very smart, eh?”  
“Quite,” Sherlock responded. Then, dutifully and a bit bored, he added, “Thank you for having us for dinner.”  
“It smells wonderful,” John gushed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, sir.”  
“Pippen. Pippen,” the man insisted. “We are practically family! Come! Come! There is plenty of food!”  
“Where’s Maurice?” Greg asked suddenly.  
“He said he had business. He’ll be in late. I’m already upset with him.”  
“When he get’s home, I need to speak with him.”  
“Later,” Pippen demanded. “Food is now. Business is later.”  
With those words all arguments to the contrary ended.  
The men gathered to the table. John sliced bread and placed it in a basket before sitting. Greg opened two bottles of wine. Mycroft carried wine glasses from the counter to the table. Sherlock sat and watched the quiet chaos around him as he sat with an aloof interest.  
Pippen happily began serving their meal. First, the ratatouille was portioned out generously. A few potatoes were sat down on the plate and topped out with a piece of rabbit and a ladle of wine and herb scented gravy.  
Greg closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply and smiled. “That’s home. This is my childhood.” With his eyes still closed he said, “I can actually still see mama in the kitchen.”  
Greg let go of what he’d been holding on to inside. He opened his eyes and raised his glass saying, “To the love in our lives that makes it all worth living for.”  
“Lamour!” Pippen said enthusiastically.  
John happily toasted.  
Sherlock sneared.  
“Social convention,” John hissed.   
“Ah,” Sherlock said slowly, clearly bored. “Yes, to utter sentiment.”  
Mycroft smirked. He raised his glass saying, “I must still be high. And so I raise my cup; when I’m not even sure if I believe in it.”  
Greg didn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss Mycroft’s neck. “Everyone believe in that feeling…in some way.”  
Mycroft smiled disingenuously. “Not everyone is lucky enough to be ordinary. I mean that in the best way. Social ways.”  
“Is that what it would take? A more ordinary Mycroft to lower those walls? Or, is that just an excuse?”  
Mycroft sat back clearly amused. “There’s no need for walls, Detective Inspector. I exist with a chasm between myself and the rest of humanity. No creation necessary.”  
“This is why bridges exist.”  
“Are they…flirting?” Sherlock asked a bit lost.  
“Yeah,” John gasped quickly as if he was dropping something hot.  
Pippen simply watched and smiled behind his wine.  
Mycroft simply responded. “Bridges are only as sound as the construction materials. I can’t begin to imagine what-  
“Well a good foundation for any human interaction is friendship, but I’ve always believed that sex was pretty good too.”  
Mycroft’s smile turned sad. Still he leaned in and said, “That was flirtatious and rather unique in my life. While I appreciate the banter-  
“Yada, yada. You make more excuses and expect me to walk away afraid of the great Mycroft Holmes. Untouchable. Unreachable. And all powerful.” Greg leveled his stare to Mycroft’s cool gaze. “You don’t scare me.”  
“And I celebrate your bravery. However, I fail to see how this is motivation on my part.”  
Greg swirled his wine. “You and I are going to be friends whether or not we become more depends on how far you can let me in. I’m too old to be in some weak arrangement that doesn’t mean anything.”  
Mycroft didn’t respond.  
Greg thought carefully. “Eat,” he instructed. “I want to show you something after dinner.”   
Mycroft hesitated.  
It was John that chirped, “Why not?”  
Both Mycroft and Greg turned to face him.  
John held up his hands. “You two are the one’s living out a soap opera in front of us. I just want to see what happens next.”  
“I know,” Sherlock insisted. “On the telly the next scene is the big, romantic kiss.” Sherlock suddenly soured. He shook his head as his shoulders hunched. “Delete! Delete! Delete!”  
Greg held his hand up and waved it at Sherlock and John quickly explaining to Mycroft, “Ignore this. These two are an example of what not to do. And, all I want is to take you up to my tree house.”  
“Tree house?”  
“When I was twelve, I swore that one day I was going to be the cool, swave guy that got to bring a date back to my tree house.”  
“My, a real tree house?”  
Greg leaned in and seductively said, “It has a sky light.”  
Greg even wiggled his eye brows.  
Mycroft decided that he didn’t know how to respond to that, and so he said nothing.  
“I’m perfectly serious,” Greg said slicing into his rabbit. “Eat your dinner so that we can go.”  
Mycroft wasn’t sure what to think. He picked up his knife and fork so he could commence eating his diner.  
The conversation topic simply seemed to die away. They discussed the food and wine. They discussed Sherlock’s latest case as Mycroft refused to confirm or deny any aspect of his brother’s case that could impact national security.   
When the meal was done, Greg quickly excused himself from the table. He left out of the back door.  
He returned ten minutes later and sat back down.  
During a lull in the conversation, he turned to Mycroft and said, “Are you ready to go?”  
Mycroft turned to Greg and asked, “Are you entirely serious?”  
“Completely. Come to see my tree house.”  
Mycroft met the Detective Inspector’s gaze. After a long few moments, Mycroft said, “Very well. I don’t think that I’ve ever been in a tree house. Will there be stuffed animals?”  
Seriously, Greg answered, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t ask that.”  
Greg stood and took Mycroft’s hand in his. He gave a gentle tug. Mycroft looked a bit unsure, but he rose from his seat and followed.  
Greg led the man out the back door, down the porch, and across the yard. As they walked, Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Thanks,” he said. “For trusting me. I know sometimes I can come on kind of strong. It just happens.”  
They walked to a large tree with a rope latter built around it’s trunk. A step ladder had been leaned against the platform above.  
“I thought the ladder would be easier for you.”  
“I believe you may be right.”  
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”  
Mycroft looked up a bit unsure at the sentiment.   
To memory, he couldn’t imagine the last time, if any, that he’d ever been on a ladder. Still, he didn’t want to seem too squeamish or overly delicate. So, he stepped up onto the first rung.  
Gregory reached up and secured the thing. It made Mycroft feel confident enough to keep going.  
Before he knew it, Mycroft was at the platform stepping off. He didn’t want to seem overly proud over something so banal, but he couldn’t help the smile.   
By comparison, Gregory seemed to fly up the ladder.  
“Is that a Lamborghini door?”  
Greg answered with a smile.


	4. As The World Changes

The man gallantly walked to the Lamborghini door and lifted the handle. It opened up and outward at a slight angle crating a rabbit hole entrance. A light instantly came on illuminating everything.  
“I like cars. My tree house comes complete with fuzzy dice. The mud flaps with the silhouette of a naked woman are over the windows acting as curtains.”  
Mycroft ducked down and stepped inside. He emerged on the other side and could only look around.   
“I have no words,” Mycroft said in shock.  
“When I started to build this, I was twelve. But I’ve kept it up. Found a few bits and pieces. I still sneak up here to be alone.”  
“A man cave, I believe it’s called.” Mycroft looking around carefully at the automotive theme expressed through out the small room. There was a single lounging chair with headlights attached.   
“I feel as if I’m that much more masculine just for entering into this sacred space.”  
“This is not all. Do you think that you can lay down? On the shag rug. Yes, it’s real shag rug?”  
“I can try,” Mycroft said curiously. “Breathing becomes only slightly more difficult.   
“Lay down here,” Greg indicated. He gave his hands to Mycroft and helped him down.   
“You shall have to help me up.”  
“Not exactly a chore,” Greg said retrieving a remote control. He went down to the floor next to Mycroft and he stretched out. “Watch.”  
Greg pointed the remote and all the lights went out. Then the two big sliding van doors that acted as both roof and sky light slid apart. It slowly revealed a large and bright moon that filled the opening.  
“This is what I wanted to bring you up to see. Moon’s brightest and closest the next three days, and not again for five months. Unlike every other moon this year. This one is the lover’s moon.”  
“What makes it so special?”  
“Old, local superstition. Tradition says that the Merovingian’s would marry under this moon for good luck and a fruitful union.”  
Mycroft managed a not to painful snort.  
Greg ignored it so he could add, “Today the superstition says that if you have your first kiss under this moon, that person you will marry. And, it will be a happy union. Making love under it is even better for the union.”  
Mycroft looked at him and clearly stated, “Cheerful superstition, but superstition none-the-less.”  
Greg sat up slightly and looked around. “Did you hear that?” he hissed.  
In his normal voice, Mycroft said, “No, I didn’t-  
Greg quickly covered Mycroft’s mouth with his hand. He leaned in close and whispered, “Something’s wrong. Be quiet.”  
Greg rolled away and low crawled to the closest window.  
Mycroft wasn’t quite as quick. Mindful of his ribs he moved with far more care.  
By the time he arrived at Greg’s side the man was able to say, “Four men. Russian. Looks like they brought Maurice home. They haven’t started hurting anyone…yet.”  
Greg reached for a car trunk which stuck out of the wall. It was the back end of a BMW bug. Greg opened it soundlessly and pulled out a rifle with a scope.  
Quietly, Greg asked, “Can you shoot?”  
“I suppose. I learned, but haven’t had need of the skill.”  
“Muscle memory,” Greg said sliding a magazine into the rifle. He slide the charging handle back and let the slide ride forwards. “This isn’t something you ever forget. All I want you to do is count to fifty. Peak out of the window, shoot one of those blokes in the center of the chest. Then go down to the floor and don’t move.”  
“Gregory?”  
“That’s all. We need to do this quick. Tell me that you can do this?”  
Even from where they were they heard the slam of flesh on flesh as a beating began.  
“Don’t listen to that. Concentrate on the job. They can’t kill them without getting us first. Can you do it?”  
Mycroft only had to think for the briefest of moments. “Yes.”  
“Good.” Greg leaned in and slanted his lips across Mycroft’s. The kiss was brief but more intimate than either had experienced in a great deal of time.  
Greg pulled away just far enough to say, “I’m pretty sure that’s binding.”  
Mycroft was aware of the man moving away. He was grateful because he couldn’t breath with the Detective Inspector so close. But when he looked up the man was gone.  
Suddenly remembering, Mycroft began counting. He didn’t pick up the weapon until twenty. He knelt up at thirty five. At forty five he had acquired an easy target, a man with his back to one of the kitchen windows. At fifty, he breathed in and held his breath. In the stillness of his own self, he ever so gently squeezed the trigger.   
The sudden discharge was a surprise. It literally took his breath away as the pain shot through him. He knew and understood the instructions but was unable too carry them out. The pain in his ribs was such that tears rolled down his face and he was still waiting for his lungs to remember how to work.  
Mycroft moved the mud flap a bit so that it mostly hid him. Still he had a perfect view when the back door flew open. Men with guns barged out with weapons drawn. Two men were now in the yard, searching.  
It wasn’t until the third stepped out that things got interesting. He held still in the darkness. Mycroft didn’t know where the shots came from at first. The bullets exploded. They took down the man standing on the porch amid broken splinters of wood and splatters of blood. The two in the yard instantly turned. Greg fired in quick succession. The other two went down.  
Greg rolled out from under the porch. His next shot went to the man laid out on the porch. He walked to the other two and put a bullet into each of their heads as well.  
Greg took the porch steps two at a time.  
He sauntered into the kitchen and instantly complained, “Dinner was over twenty minutes ago! Where were you?”  
Greg put his gun in the waistband of his pants as he surveyed the damage. The man were all on their knees. Their hands timed behind their backs. Pippen hadn’t been touched. Sherlock had a black eye. John a cut on his forehead. Maurice had a broken nose and a bloody mouth. His face would feel raw in the morning.   
Maurice spit out blood and saliva. “Getting the shit kicked out of me! Where do you think?”  
Greg reached for the a chef’s knife off the counter.  
Maurice spit again. “I thought fucking homos were supposed to be punctual?”  
Greg started cutting ropes as he said, “And I thought little girls were supposed to be able to take a punch. After, I’ll get you a tampon and an aspirin for that pain in your vagina.”  
Once free Maurice hauled himself up onto a chair asked for a bag of frozen peas. Uncle Pippen brought him a bag of peas as he demanded, “How the fuck did this happen?”  
“They didn’t believe me. But it wasn’t because I wasn’t lying well. These people are just plain untrusting! They’ve visited a few homes tonight. I heard them talking. It was just convenient for them that I went to see them. Saved them the trouble of going to find me.”  
“Who?” Pippen demanded.  
“Troussant and Alegré. They were working over Matrés when I got there. They were planning on visiting the Taté sisters and Madam Childs.”   
“Everyone with the ability to export anything.” Pippen went silent for a heartbeat. “Call everyone. Tell them to get out.” He turned to John saying, “We might need your help.”  
“I’m a combat trained surgeon and I work with Sherlock. I carry an emergency surgery kit everywhere I go.”  
The next few minutes were spent making calls and warning people to go into temporary hiding.  
When the calls were done Gregory ordered, “Get your kit, John. We’re leaving.”  
Gregory quickly left out the back and climbed up to his tree house. He closed it up tight. When he came down it was with a back pack and a duffle bag full of weapons and ammo.   
Mycroft knew the contents because he didn’t hesitate to look inside once he saw the muzzle poking out the zippered end. He took inventory but made no comment.  
Gregory led them through the marijuana field and back to the cottage. While his friends were inside gathering their things Greg drove Sherlock’s rental around to the main house. He quickly loaded the bodies into the back.   
Pippen and Maurice were already driving towards him in their four-wheel-drive armored Auverland jeep. When he drove toward the cottage it was with them directly behind. Greg picked up Mycroft. Sherlock and John got into the next car.  
Movement along the smuggler’s road at night was slow going. With no head lights and only the moon to guide them, everything around them existed in shades of grey, black, and purple.  
Mycroft wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was enough time for two other cars to join them in the slow progression on the eerie, ancient road.  
Greg started humming.   
It was the last straw for Mycroft, “Who are you?”  
It was the last question that Mycroft could have expected to come out of his mouth. But there it was, voiced. Real. Irretraceable.  
“Yeah. I guess you’ve never seen this part of my life. Fair question really.” Greg paused for a moment. “You’ve met my family. Protecting them sometimes means getting my hands dirty.”  
“You’re a Detective Inspector?”  
“And, I’m good at my job. But, I have responsibilities here too.”  
“Have you killed others?”  
Greg went quiet.  
“The truth, please.”  
“Yes, I have. And while we’re on the topic. I don’t feel much in the way of remorse. I actually considered becoming a contract killer at one point.”  
“Really. What kept you?”  
Greg shrugged.  
“Not the kind of profession where you can set roots, is it? I wanted a family. Thought the wife did too. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I’d gone wild instead of respectable.”  
Mycroft smirked. “Are we going to dump the four corpses in the back? And those weapons, are they legal?”  
“While I concede your cleaver and yet subtle point, I have to ask, did you suspect anything?”  
“A point that worries me?”  
“If I didn’t want to really be with you, I wouldn’t have told you.”  
“Did you tell your wife?”  
“Got as far as driving her close to the farm. She saw the field and went crazy. I wasn’t too sharing about certain things after.”  
Greg looked next to him. Mycroft was studying him.  
“Cards on the table. Do I enjoy it? No. Not really. I sleep just fine. The only time I can’t sleep well is if I eat spicy before bed.” He hooked his thumb back to the cargo in the back. “That’s just family business. Once they go into the river, the current will take them out to sea. It isn’t our problem anymore.”  
“I could use a man like you.”  
Greg stopped the jeep. He turned to Mycroft and said, “Unless what you need ends with a named pile sharing a fag between us, I’m not interested.”  
Greg put his attention back on the road and depressed the gas pedal.  
~~~~~  
Mycroft was told to stay in the jeep. He watched as Greg systematically dumped the four nameless Russians into the quick moving, underground waters. Once gone, the bodies were easily forgotten.  
Several cars were parked close enough that the headlights were all illuminating an area where John orchestrated. Several new arrivals had joined and sought his services. In the light he stitched closed open wounds, set broken bones, and even removed a bullet. Gregory aided in the swirl of activity.  
Mycroft noticed that he never looked up at where Mycroft sat in the jeep watching. After a while it hardly seemed to matter. Mycroft sat back and did his best to remind himself that it was entirely for the best. As interesting as it might be to think about the what might have beens with the handsome man, it was simply better to not pretend or fantasize. A clear and solid understanding of reality had always carried him through.  
As much as he wanted to imagine reality to be comforting, it just seemed rather unfortunate at the moment.  
~~~~~  
Greg was walking around helping however he could. Alegré had a bullet removed from his leg and Greg was the one that held him down. Madam Childs, so named for her illegal movement of high end foods, came in with her nephews a bit worse for wear. Greg snapped one of the twins’ shoulders back into place. He offered the twins a joint for the pain. The other twin waited for his turn with John.  
It was as the twins shared a joint that they noticed Mycroft. Greg saw the first man stand, and then the other. As they watched Mycroft, realization dawned across their faces.  
Crisply Greg explained, “If it had been one of you, I never would have said a word.”  
“He’s not one of us,” the left twin demanded.  
“He’s mine,” Greg said simply. “They took him. I took him back.”  
“You killed their men, Wolf?” the right twin asked.  
“I took him back,” Greg repeated. “It was bad enough they came to our home. They didn’t have to hurt so many people over something like this. Not every venture is going to be successful. They should have sucked it up and kept going. But they made it personal.”  
Neither man said anything.  
Greg managed a smile that had nothing to do with humor. “Two days and you can go home. My word.”  
Greg walked away from the twins confident that in a few minutes everyone would hear the same. He wasn’t entirely sure yet if he even needed to be the one that had to go after the Russian gang. But, his pride wouldn’t let him walk up to Mycroft so that they could have that conversation.  
Greg was walking towards his cousin when he heard Sherlock’s familiar baritone voice say, “Don’t give up.”  
Greg stopped and looked at the man.  
“I may not be good with people but I know ‘that’ look. You’ve given up on him. You’re going to walk away.” Sadly, he said, “I’m right, aren’t I?”  
“Sherlock-  
“It’s complicated. You don’t understand. He pushed me away. He wouldn’t let me touch him. I’ve heard it all more than once.”  
Normally, Greg would discount Sherlock’s relationship advice. However, in this instance, Sherlock seemed sincere. There were unshed tears in his eyes. And, he sounded almost…heart broken.  
“Please don’t give up,” Sherlock repeated. He took a moment as he looked around at everything but Greg. “People like to use the word special, normally just to trivialize or placate mundane people. When I say that he’s special, I mean it.”  
Greg smirked. “As the great Sherlock Holmes has said on occasion, even I should have noticed that.”  
But there was not retort. No sarcasm. No comment.  
Sherlock still didn’t look at him. Instead, he fidgeted. He pulled on the buttons of his coat, a thing that Greg had never seen before.  
Gently, Greg asked, “Mate, are you alright?”  
Breathlessly, Sherlock gasped, “I’ll do whatever you want.” This was followed by the words, “Just don’t give up.”  
Greg wasn’t sure what possessed him to say, “I will if you will.”  
Sherlock’s face twisted.  
“John, Sherlock. I’m not telling you that you must do anything specific. But you will go and tell him how much he means to you. A real heart to heart of messy emotions.”  
Sherlock suddenly looked like he swallowed a lemon. Still he dutifully nodded.  
“Well, then I’m going to go over there and charge at that wall again. I’ll be able to tell what you said by looking at John when I return. The man doesn’t have a poker face.”  
Sherlock looked a bit shell shocked. He turned away unsteadily.  
“Let me ask you a question.” Greg stuck his hands in his pockets. “If I were to do something real stupid, like say…propose. What kind of reaction would-  
“Abject fear,” Sherlock responded. “I should think it would be easier to give a starving lion a body shave and pedicure.”  
“Then I’ll make sure to tie him up so he can’t run. Can I have your blessing?”  
Sherlock hesitantly said, “Don’t do that.”  
Greg actually watched look of fear come over Sherlock, a thing that he never thought he’d see on the man. “Just. Just be…nice. You can be nice! I’ve seen you be charming! You have that skill!”  
“Sherlock I want to fuck him and keep him. I want a relationship.”  
“Why?” Sherlock blared out. There were more tears, Heavy tears that rolled down his face. And then suddenly more in control, he asked, “Why’s it always about sex? Sex is unimportant.” Sternly, he insisted, “Unimportant!”  
A part of Greg wanted to take the younger man in his arms and hold him. He kept off mainly because he was still unsure whey they were discussing it.  
Sherlock’s hands were shaking. “Just do that thing you do. And…  
Greg saw the man struggle so he offered the words, “Keep my hand to myself?”  
“He’ll take you to nice places. People enjoy dating. They must or they wouldn’t waste so much time and effort to it. It could be entertaining for you,” Sherlock explained.  
“Sherlock,” as gently as he could Greg said, “sex isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing. It feels good.”  
Sherlock looked away. Quietly, he said, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

When he looked up, Sherlock froze. John was standing close by watching silently, concern painted across his face.  
“Alright,” Greg said already concerned. “I’ll keep my hands. Just keep your promise.”   
And then, Greg left them.  
He walked to Maurice who was leaning against the side of his Auverland with a chemical cold pack pressed against his face.   
“What’s happened?” Maurice asked quickly. His face had already been dealt with. He was shinny with ointment. His broken nose had been bandaged which made the sound of his voice sound a bit stunted. “I know that look.”  
“Nothing. Do you have a blanket in your jeep?”  
“Of course, I’m still seeing Babet. It’s the moon! If it wasn’t for these fucking Reds, I’d be inside her right now!”  
Greg took his cousins keys and opened the jeep. He found a blanket where it should have been. It was folded and smelled clean. Greg even checked a small tool box and found a flash light.   
When he closed the trunk, Maurice was there. Greg returned the keys and waited.  
“Is he important?”  
Greg gave a little nod. “Yes.”  
“Should this wait for his ribs to heal?”  
Greg easily said, “I haven’t fucked him, Maurice.”  
“They make pills for that you know.”  
“I’ll be back later, asshole.”  
Greg walked away.  
He walked where John and Sherlock were talking. Greg only had to glance. He knew an intense two-way conversation when he saw one.   
He went right passed.  
Greg walked up to the jeep. Mycroft was still sitting where he’d left him.  
Greg opened the passenger’s side door and said, “Come.”  
Mycroft hardly flinched. He simply said, “The last time you directed a destination, I had to shoot someone.”  
“Better him than you,” Greg said easily. “This time I can guarantee your safety.”  
“I appreciate-  
“I’m not taking no for an answer. We are going to take a gentle hike. When we get there we are going to talk.”  
Mycroft didn’t move, nor did he look at Greg.  
“I would rather no have this conversation here.  
Still nothing.  
“I will keep my hands to myself. My word of honor.”  
Nothing. Mycroft hardly seemed to breathe.  
“It’s a bit cool out. I got us a blanket.” Greg reached in and took Mycroft’s hand in his, “Please come.”  
“I’m fine,” Mycroft said in a thick voice. Gently but firmly, he took his hand back, “I’m comfortable.”  
“That is the one thing that you are not.” Greg went down and squatted on his haunches. “You don’t want to trust me. Or, like me. Or, give a damn. Fine. You want to get rid of me, come. Otherwise, I’m going to keep it up. You should know that I can be an incredible pain in the ass when I want. Make a choice?”   
Hesitantly, Mycroft reached for his seat belt.  
When he stood out of the jeep with his dignity intact, Greg took his hand.  
He led Mycroft toward the darkness. Hidden behind a big pile of boulders was an entrance to a large cave tunnel. It slopped up gently. He knew the way by heart but he used the flashlight for Mycroft’s sake.  
“Sometime in antiquity the river carved its way up through this softer stone.”  
Greg stopped and swept the cave floor with the light. When he was satisfied that what he was looking for wasn’t there, he kept walking.   
“Up at the top, where the outlook is, there once was a waterfall. It must have really been something. The fall and the river that fed it created our smugglers road. It’s probably the reason that we still exist. The smugglers road has been used by pirates, thieves, and business men since the day we first found it.”  
Greg stopped again and checked the ground. Still, he didn’t find what he was looking for.  
When they continued walking, Greg said, “This outlook is so important and has been for so long that it’s still tradition to leave gifts for the river.”  
Greg stopped again. When he didn’t find what he was looking for he began walking again only to stop again.  
“What on earth are you looking for?”  
“A rock,” Greg responded. “A special rock. I’ll let you know when I find it.”  
They continued walking up the shaft as Greg swept the light along the ground looking for the rock in question.  
It began to get cool as they approached the tunnel’s end. The wind following the path of least resistance swept in and pushed them away.  
When they emerged outside the wind, Greg walked Mycroft to a safe spot protected by boulders.  
He wrapped a blanket around Mycroft and said, “I’ll be right back.”  
He left Mycroft in the sheltered place.  
Greg didn’t go far. He swept the light along the ground. There were several rocks that he came upon. He quickly cast each one aside. Finally, he saw something shinning on the dark ground. He picked it up and cleaned it off as best he could. The rock was a little rough and chipped but that’s why he liked it. It had character and beauty in its flaws.  
When he returned he found Mycroft out in the wind. His hair was disheveled. The blanket was whipping around him.  
“You’ll get wind chapped,” Greg said chastising gently. He led the other man back towards the safety of the rocks.  
“Why are we here?” Mycroft asked, his voice a little jittery.  
“Look up,” Greg answered.  
When Mycroft finally did, it was obvious by the gasp.  
They stood sheltered by boulders but the outcropping of rocks didn’t hang above them. The sky opened still and dark. Even with the huge lover’s moon dominating all, it was impossible to miss the sky filled with stars.  
Greg fell back against the stone. He pulled Mycroft close enough that he could wrap them both in the blanket. He secured it’s ends in his hand.  
“I have something for you.” He pulled Mycroft a little closer.  
“Don’t,” Mycroft gasped.  
“I’m not going to hurt you. I said I’d keep my hands to myself, and I will keep my word.” Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft’s neck. Still closer, he whispered, “It’s in my hand.”  
When Mycroft didn’t reach for it, Greg found Mycroft’s hand and put it in the man’s hand.  
“It’s pyrite.”  
“Fools gold,” Mycroft countered.  
“Yes. It’s tradition. Every year on the last night of the harvest festival the men of the village bring pyrite up here.”  
Mycroft didn’t ask.   
Undaunted Greg said, “No one knows how it started. But every lover’s moon people come up here with someone they care for and give them pyrite as a promise.”  
Mycroft looked down. He didn’t speak.  
Greg leaned against him pressing his lips to Mycroft’s temple. When Mycroft didn’t pull away, Greg felt quite grateful.  
“Ideally, Greg murmured. “This would be the moon that we would make love under. I’ll settle for another kiss. But, only with the understanding that we come back in five months. It’s important, Mycroft. We can’t get married without doing it.”  
For a few minutes Mycroft said nothing.  
Greg spent those minutes touching the man gently. He soothed Mycroft’s hair back into place. Carefully, he rubbed the man’s arms.  
“You’ll be disappointed,” Mycroft finally said.  
“Every time I can’t sleep next to you.”  
Quietly, Mycroft said, “Why are you doing this?”  
“Because it isn’t force that carves a rock, it’s persistence. I’m going to get you home safe. Then, I’ll deal with this mess.”  
“I called it in earlier today while you were napping. The situation will be dealt with accordingly.”  
Greg kissed Mycroft’s neck again.  
“Precious,” he whispered. “And you think I’d let you go? Never. You’re mine.”


	5. Will They or Won’t They

It had been two weeks since that night. Errant thoughts of it continued to plague him, despite his best efforts. It was to the point that Anthea had noticed. She was even worried; he knew that she was. All together the situation was intolerable.  
He found an excuse and then sent the note to Gregory.  
Mycroft should have felt better. He should have felt relief. Something that would acknowledge that his life would finally go back to normal. But instead his compulsions became more strong. He day dreamed more. His wandering mind now included wardrobe choices. What he was going to say. What Gregory might say. And, the thousand ways that it could all go in one direction or another.  
Mycroft had to resort to the unthinkable. He shut down his computer. He put his work in the vault. He left his office after the most unproductive half day ever in his twelve years in service.  
Instead of worrying or getting angry. Mycroft obsessed even more. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom and straight to his closet. He spent two hours pulling out everything he owned. He tried everything on. He hated everything. When finally he found suitable clothing which adequately hid his flaws, he began his personal hygiene.   
He didn’t like for people to get to close. He enjoyed his personal space. And, Gregory had already proven that he liked to invade that space. It was best to be prepared for anything.   
It was fine until he made the mistake of looking in the mirror naked. It was a painful and cold moment of truth. It was the moment when he slowed down.   
“He’ll come tonight. But this will be the last time he comes to see me. I’ll never have contact with him again. I’ll be able to return to a normal life without distraction and he will be free to move on.”  
His voice was shaky and without authority.  
Shameful.  
Mycroft cleared his throat and said it again. And, again. And, again. And, again. Over and over, until he felt cold.  
The emotion of it escaped him.  
And, he was ready.  
He was…until he saw those brown eyes. They were filled with such hope as Greg walked up the few steps to his door.  
As expected, the man violated Mycroft’s personal space almost immediately. He walked up to stand far too close.  
For a moment he hovered as if he were to kiss him on the lips in greeting. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Mycroft’s fresh shaven cheek.  
“You look great,” Greg said. His lips still lightly attached to Mycroft’s skin. “You smell good.”  
Mycroft pulled away. “Come in. I want to close the door.”  
“Really? You want me inside?”  
“If you’re playing games-  
“No,” Greg cut in. “I was just being and ass.”  
Greg walked in before Mycroft could change his mind.   
“You do smell good,” Greg repeated carefully.  
“Thank you.” Mycroft led the way. “My office is this way.”  
“This would be the third one. The public one where you pretend to work for the Office of Transportation, the private one in the faceless little building, and then there’s the home office.”  
“Each has their uses.”  
Once inside, Mycroft closed the door behind them.  
“There’s tea, if you like.”  
Mycroft walked to his desk. He retrieved the envelope there.   
When he turned Greg was seated on the couch. His arm was stretched out across the back. He was slightly turned to one side. And, he was clearly waiting for Mycroft to join him.   
Mycroft dutifully walked the envelope over to him saying, “This is an important situation which must be resolved.”  
Mycroft didn’t sit.  
Greg leaned forwards and tucked the envelope behind a pillow saying, “Sure. I’ll get it done.”  
“You’ll be well paid.”  
“I’d rather take you to the opera. Madame Butterfly is playing at the Royal Opera House, dinner, and then back here for drinks.”  
Mycroft debated his answer for a moment. Instead of voicing an opinion on the matter at hand, Mycroft stepped forwards and sat down in the space Gregory had prepared for him on the couch.  
Greg instantly leaned in and kissed Mycroft on the neck. Little licks alternated with nuzzles made Mycroft’s mind float. Slowly, he sank against Gregory.  
Mycroft realized rather quickly that he hadn’t been prepared. He turned his face into Gregory’s chest and breathed in deeply.  
“You can touch me,” Gregory murmured. “You can touch me any way you like.”  
Hesitantly, Mycroft raised his hand to Greg’s chest. He did touch feeling the hard plains of his torso.  
“It’s been so long,” Mycroft admitted as he traced Greg’s flat pecks through is shirt.  
He was gentle as he explored, touching under Gregory’s jacket. He traced along the lines of the man’s body.  
Mycroft couldn’t help the smile of delight.  
He found a well kept body. He wasn’t particularly hard-bodied. There was a little bit of softness to his belly but a trim waist. He was strong and solid.  
He fell forwards burying his face in Greg’s shirt. He breathed in deep experiencing again for the first time what a man smelled like. He wanted to memorize it. Lock up the scent in his nostrils and memory until he could never forget it ever again.  
Gregory stroked Mycroft’s hair. Reverently, he kissed the tip of the dark red head.  
“What did he do to you?”  
A sob escaped from Mycroft. A big part of him was still amazed that there was still enough left in him to be hobbled by the memory.  
Mycroft wiped his mouth as if trying to erase or prevent another emotional outpouring.  
Mycroft sat up. He met the man’s steady gaze and said, “He gave me hope. Hope that we would be married. That we’d have a family. That we would be forever.”  
Mycroft took a moment to close his eyes and breath out a calming breath.   
Unexpectedly, he felt Gregory take his hand in his larger, calloused ones.   
He didn’t ask.  
“To my eighteen year old mind, he was perfect. I lost myself in him. He was my first everything. For one summer, life was beautiful.”  
Mycroft swallowed hard and steadied himself.  
“He broke it off just before university. He said that he didn’t want anyone thinking that he was a bender.”  
Mycroft wanted to be unemotional about it but he couldn’t. It was obvious when he said, “It broke me. I tried to harm myself. My parents were concerned enough to send me to a hospital where I could rest.”  
“Did he hurt Sherlock?”  
Mycroft considered the question. Finally he admitted, “I did that. No one else. He was young, highly impressionable, and concerned. His big brother was suddenly ignoring him for someone else.”  
“That couldn’t have gone over well.”  
“It didn’t. I didn’t know it, but he was spying on us. He witnessed our breakup…and my breakdown. I spent all of my time at Uni putting myself back together. When I started working, I finally found something to focus on. But when I bothered to notice, Sherlock was already and addict.”  
“That’s not your fault!”  
“Logically, I understand that. But, the rest does not.”  
Greg stroked the back of Mycroft’s soft, well manicured hand. “I’m sorry that dumb git hurt you. I can’t promise to be the perfect partner. God knows that my ex has a few choice thoughts on the matter. But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to learn all about you, if you’ll have me.”  
Mycroft pulled his hand away. He reached for his trousers. He unbuckled and unzipped.  
When Gregory didn’t act, Mycroft said, “Stop being so bloody respectful. I’m trying to show and tell.”  
Greg leaned in to try and kiss him but Mycroft turned away. Greg took was offered and kissed his cheek and neck.  
“Millicent,” Mycroft gasped tightly. “That was the name… that my parents chose for me.” He swallowed. “It was my name until I was age three; when I began a series of arguments explaining to my parents why I was a boy.  
Greg stroked Mycroft’s face.  
“There was no such thing as being intersexed in those days. The doctors assured my parents that a quick operation to correct the fact that I had testicles would make all right. And then they could take their daughter home.  
Gently, Greg asked, “Did they?”  
“No. My grandmother stepped in. Thank God for religious idiocy. In her view it was God’s will.”  
Greg reached for Mycroft and gently turned the man to face him. Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft’s lower lip.  
“I don’t have a penis,” Mycroft exhaled. “I have a vagina.”  
Greg carefully traced Mycroft’s lips with his fingers. He leaned in and kissed him again.  
He pulled away so he could say, “Vaginas don’t scare me. I’ve fucked them before.”  
He leaned in and slanted his mouth against Mycroft’s. He slid his tongue inside testing the man.  
Suddenly, remembering, Greg pulled away saying, “You have to understand that I see you as a man.”  
“I am a man,” Mycroft assured.  
“I’m going to want to fuck you in the ass. Doesn’t matter how many times I come in your pussy. I’m gong to want it.”  
“Promise,” Mycroft said a moment before he grabbed Greg and pulled him harshly towards him.  
They met in a kiss. It quickly turned sloppy and wet. Their teeth gnashed and tongues dueled.  
“Ask me to stay,” Gregory huffed out.   
“Stay,” Mycroft responded enthusiastically. “Make love to me. Stay.”  
“I’ve half a mind to fuck you right here,” Greg said sliding his hands up the other man’s arms. “We’d give your security quite the show.”  
Mycroft didn’t respond but it was obvious by his face.  
“Where’s your room?”  
“Top of the stairs. Fully private.”  
Greg rose to his feet. Mycroft followed pulling his trousers shut. Greg took the other man by the hand and they walked up deliberately.  
Greg wanted to sprint up, but decided against it. Greg wanted to be able to give Mycroft the opportunity to walk away, should he change his mind.  
At the door, Mycroft entered a code onto a faceless door pad. The door opened with a snick.   
Mycroft pulled Greg in after him.


	6. Sickness Sets In

Mycroft carefully walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street. He made sure to hold on tightly to the banister. For a moment, he thought he might be dizzy again. His arms were long enough that he could extend his left so that he could steady himself against the wall. His right held the banister. His hip steady against it.  
It passed quickly.  
Still, he breathed deeply several times before he could trust himself enough to continue up the stairs.  
He knocked.  
Unsurprisingly, it was John who let him in with a greeting and a simple, “He’s on the couch.”  
Mycroft proceeded in. “Thank you, Doctor. If you don’t mind I also have need to speak with you as well.”  
Sherlock was flat on his back in full thinking position: fingertips touching, brow tight, and his smoking jacket askew.   
As usual, he took John’s chair. Thankfully, the man was neither territorial nor petty.  
“Would you like a cuppa?” John asked as he retrieved his still hot mug from the coffee table.  
Suddenly, Mycroft felt green.  
“No,” he managed. He breathed in deeply. “The milk wouldn’t agree with me. The last few days I haven’t been able to stomach much.”  
“Are you sick? Is it the flu? There’s been quite a bit of it going around.”  
Mycroft smiled. “No. I appreciate the concern. I’m sure that it’s not the flu.”  
“No,” Sherlock said sitting up right. “How could you have been so careless!”  
Mycroft felt a blush color his face. “I prefer to think of it as a possible and most wonderful blessing.”  
Sherlock opened his mouth. Instead of speaking he shook his head jerking it from side to side.  
“It’s not your choice,” Mycroft explained patiently.  
“Not yours either,” Sherlock rebutted.  
“Brother mine, Gregory is my choice. As is everything to come. And it starts here.” Mycroft turned to John who quietly watched their interaction. “Doctor, I require a referral to a specialist.”  
Carefully, the man asked, “What kind?”  
Mycroft smiled. “An OB-Gyn who can handle an unusual pregnancy with tact and discretion.”  
Sherlock hissed and tossed himself upon the couch. He continued to flip and turn until he was curled up. His buttocks and back to the world and his face buried in the leather of the couch.  
“Who,” John asked. Confusion and uncertainty clearly present in his face.  
“I’m intersexed, Doctor. My genitalia aren’t fully male. I’m experiencing the classic pregnancy symptoms. Dizziness and morning nausea. I would like to confirm first, of course.”   
John fell silent for a few seconds as he processed. “It’s early in the day. If you like, I can take a tube of your blood. I can run it under a fake name, have the results by tomorrow.”  
Mycroft smiled in relief and gratitude. “Thank you, John. I would appreciate your efforts greatly.”  
John got up and went up to his room. He had a tendency to hide any equipment that Sherlock might try to ‘borrow’ for his own uses. He found his emergency medical kit and opened it. He found what he needed to draw blood and returned.  
Mycroft had already removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve.  
“Really, Sherlock. My current condition has nothing to do with it. He’s been asking to marry me for a while. I wish to agree and if I am indeed ‘up the duff,’ I also plan on keeping the child.”  
John moved at little table closer so he could put his supplies on it. He found a little stool nearby and dragged it close.  
John put his gloves on and began to work.  
Nervously, Mycroft felt the need to say, “I didn’t honestly think this would be possible.”  
“Do you get a menses?” John asked as he tied Mycroft’s arm off.  
“Hardly. It is annoying, undependable, and lasts only a day or so. I’ve ruined more trousers than I care to discuss.”  
John swabbed the man’s arm saying, “If you have at least one functional ovary and a womb, then it’s possible.”  
John easily found a good vein on Mycroft’s arm. He drew the blood without incident.  
“I’ll run it over to the lab now.” John said packing the blood filled tube in a small Styrofoam box with a cold chemical pack in it. John stopped just long enough to say, “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll find you a great OB.”  
And then he was gone.  
“I’ve always liked him.”  
“No, you haven’t,” Sherlock countered as he popped up off the couch. He found his chair and faced off with Mycroft. “He doesn’t blindly follow your wishes, and he’d follow me into hell.”  
“Since there isn’t a person alive who could talk you out of going there once your mind was made up as to your destination, then I’m glad you have company. He’s smart and he cares about you. That combination ensures that he won’t let you do anything terribly stupid.”  
Sherlock bolted straight up. He stepped up onto the coffee table and then down. Authoritatively, Sherlock said, “I’ve decided that you’re not pregnant.”  
“Oh, good,” Mycroft declared with equal fervor. “Then the nausea is all in my head.”  
Sherlock sat on the coffee table and looked right at Mycroft.  
Simply, Sherlock said, “I don’t want you to be.”  
“Why?”  
Sherlock looked away. “What if something happens?” Sherlock began fidgeting with his robe. “What if something happens to you?”  
“And what if I’m successful? Suddenly, there will be another person like us in the world. Someone smart, capable, and necessary.” Mycroft met Sherlock’s cutting gaze. “If this child is even half as amazing as you are…  
Sherlock stood and stomped away. He was pacing suddenly. Sherlock shook his head. “You’ve only ever utilized sentiment when you’re really worried.”  
“And when Gregory is involved.”  
Sherlock stopped suddenly. He turned to look at Mycroft suspiciously.  
Mycroft blushed a little. “I’ve been expressing more and more sentiment. I suspect this trend will continue with the arrival. Perhaps beyond.”  
“Why?” Sherlock sneered. His face contorted in disgust.  
“The novelty of a relationship and child. Or perhaps, the fulfillment of life long wishes. Or, simple biochemistry. I don’t know. And for now, I don’t care.”  
Mycroft held his hands out. “Help me up. I’m not dizzy. I wish to capitalize while I’m able.”  
Surprisingly, Sherlock obeyed. He helped Mycroft up. He even helped his brother down the stairs. And once down the last step outside, Sherlock helped him into the awaiting car.  
“Be careful,” Sherlock murmured without making eye contact. Then, he disappeared into the house in a flash of a dressing gown.   
Mycroft could only stare at the place where his younger sibling had been and smiled happily.  
“Hormones,” Mycroft said with a big smile. “Definitely, hormones.”   
The car pulled away from the curve.  
A moment later, his phone alerted a text.  
He smiled.  
He knew who it was before he picked up the phone.  
Gregory was already demanding results. In the next text, he was voicing concerns. And in the last, he was offering to dismember Sherlock if he upset Mycroft in any way.  
Mycroft caught himself smiling hard and hugging his phone. He reached down and put his hand on his belly saying, “You’re not even a month yet, and have won over your family, little one. They’re an interesting bunch, but they will protect you.”  
~~~~~  
Depending on which office he was in, Mycroft remained behind his desk almost exclusively. The desk served to hide what his clothes couldn’t.  
His usual wardrobe was now in storage. He’d had new suits tailored to hide his growth. He’d paid the best tailors quite well, and it had been worth it. They looked best with the new coat. Even at a side view, he only looked portly. As if he’d recently put on a few pounds around the middle, nothing more.  
His days were numbered and he recognized that. It was for this reason that he’d been preparing his home office to serve as his only office. To start the process, he’d spent the first three months of his pregnancy upping Gregory’s clearance and pushing through an MI6 position so that he could act as a personal body guard for Mycroft. Due to his condition, Mycroft was forced to delegate. This involved promoting Anthea so that she could act as more than a mouth piece. Where he couldn’t delegate, he chose to appear via video conference.  
Naturally, every one assumed that he was ill. On his bad days there was no need to fake a thing.  
His body was ill equipped to handle the pressure and weight of even a small human being inside of his body. His pelvis was too narrow to balance the weight properly. His back was often hurting because of it. He found that frequent naps and occasional back rubs helped.  
Getting up from his desk was starting to become a challenge. The dizziness still happened from time-to-time. He found that standing had to be done carefully and preferably with another person present.  
The problem with that arrangement was Anthea was most often that person. Also a problem was that she wasn’t stupid.  
On that day, they were going over the details for several current operations when he suddenly had to urinate…again.  
“Help me up,” he demanded as he reached for her.  
They went through the process of getting him upright just so he could get dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut and held on. One hand was on her, the other on the desk. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it. He knew it once he had started to move towards the bathroom.  
Mycroft reached for the wall and leaned as he felt the urine slip out of him. He closed his eyes trying his best to put away the frustration and shame.  
“Will you get me a fresh suit, my dear? I’m gong to shower.”  
“Yes, sir,” she said in a daze.  
Mycroft waddled into the bathroom. He undressed and in the process realized that he had to pee…again. He had to stop undressing so he could sit and empty his now tablespoon sized bladder.  
It was as he was sitting on the toilet that he realized, Gregory put his socks on and off everyday. It was also Gregory that put his shoes on, but those were easily toed off.  
He tried to work off the socks using his toes, but he had little success. Based on the amount of urine that ran down his legs and into his shoes, the shower was not negotiable.  
He contemplated his many options as he sat holding onto the safety bar.  
A knock on the door disrupted his thoughts.  
Mycroft sighed.  
“Sir, I have your suit.”  
Mycroft reached for the closest towel and threw it over his lower torso and lap.  
“Anthea, I understand that you aren’t my nurse. But, I find myself in a difficult position, and require assistance.”  
The door was locked, not that it was much of a barrier. It took her less than 30 seconds to pick. She entered calmly. She hung his clothes up, set a clean pair of shoes on the floor, and then set his interior clothes neatly on the counter.  
“I can’t take my socks off,” he admitted.  
Anthea didn’t hesitated to bend down and pull his soiled socks off.  
She gathered and then walked off with the rest of the wet things.   
He didn’t think she would, but she returned. She went straight to the sink and washed her hands.  
“I want to know what’s happening?” She said as she towel dried her hands. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”  
“Help me up,” he said putting the towel around himself a little tighter.   
She helped him up.  
He touched his round belly searching.   
“Sir?”  
He shushed her. Twenty seconds later he felt it.  
“Always after I pee,” he said shaking his head. “Give me your hand?”  
He reached for her and placed her hand across his belly, at the side.  
“Sir? I don’t-  
“Shush!”  
Ten seconds later it started again. A thumping flutter just under his skin. The flutter ended quickly.  
“What,” she whispered.  
Then the flutter grew stronger. And Mycroft groaned.  
“What,” She whispered again.  
This isn’t how I was going to tell you.  
“I didn’t think you’d believe me if you didn’t see for yourself.”  
“How,” she asked suddenly.  
“When a mommy and daddy love each other-  
“Sir,” she snapped sharply.  
He smirked, “My apologies. No one outside of my family knows, expect for you.”  
“You should have told me. I’ve been so worried.” she shook her head saying, “And the trip?”  
“Greg and I are getting married.”  
She looked confused. “I thought that you were already married.”  
“My dear, he gave me a rock and kissed me under a full moon. Apparently, it’s rather binding.”  
She didn’t comment.  
“I didn’t invite you because Sherlock will be there. I know how you feel about him. Also, it’s going to be out in the country and I know that you enjoy nature even less. But if you’d like to come to the land of land lines and poor mobile reception, you are most welcome.  
“That sounds….  
“Ergo why I didn’t mention it.”  
She smiled and said, “I’m glad that you’re not terminal. And that you’ve managed to keep your sense of humor, if not your waist.”  
“That’s rather a low punch.”  
“Yes, sir. Now, into the shower with you. There’s a call to the Canadian Minister in twenty minutes.”  
~~~~~  
Their next trip to the valley was long and slow.  
They flew to Paris. Mycroft retched twice on the plane. They stayed the night in a hotel so he could rest.   
The next morning they got into a rental and drove. What was normally a trip of an hour and a half was at the three hour mark.  
They were at the side of the road where Mycroft had retched for the third time. He stopped to drink water in order to avoid dry heaving. And then, he retched the water up.  
Greg was leaning against the side of the car. His face was tight.  
“Sorry,” Mycroft gasped.  
“You’ve been keeping things from me. When I’m home, you’re never this bad.”  
“I’ll be fine as soon as we get there.”  
“Bull shit,” Greg responded. “You should have told me.” Greg turned away and looked up the road. “There’s a small village two miles down. Can you make it?”  
Mycroft nodded and wiped the sweat off his face.  
They drove down the road. Mycroft had the window down and his nose out in the clean, cool air just like a dog. It helped.  
Greg pulled into a small bed and breakfast. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to walk in and ask to use the restroom. He walked in just in time to pee. He had to pull a rubbish bin close just in case he retched.   
When he was done, he slipped down the wall. The tile was cool and his body felt far too hot. He could feel that his clothes were wet with perspiration. And a part of him wondered just how much farther he could go.   
The lock turned.  
Gregory walked in with a cup in hand.  
He sat down next to Mycroft and said, “This is not negotiable.”  
He fed Mycroft the tea. Mycroft drank only because he didn’t have the strength to argue regarding the thrill of retching up warm liquids.  
He drank, closed his eyes, and leaned against his lover.  
Then to his utter surprise, it started to pass.  
“Do you think you can hold more down?”  
Confused, he said, “Yes.”  
“Then I’ll bring you some more tea.”  
“And a saltine cracker.”  
“Right away.”  
Greg kissed his temple and was gone.  
Somehow Mycroft did feel better. After the second cup, he even felt human again. He nibbled on the little pack of saltines. He even finished them. It was the first meal he’d been able to tolerate since he’d stepped onto the plane the previous night.  
Mycroft took Greg’s hand in his.  
“What on earth did you give me?”  
Greg smiled. “Promise that you won’t be angry?”  
“Alright.”  
“It’s tradition. The women in the valley take marijuana tea during their pregnancy. My uncle delivers here. I knew they’d have his organic best, anything else would be bad for you.”  
Mycroft wanted to be angry. But the truth was that he’d tried everything on the market that was holistic. He’d tried the standard tricks: ginger teas, the dry saltines, and the small meals. Nothing seemed to really held the nausea and dizziness. Until now.   
“You’re sure that it won’t hurt…  
“Yes. Maurice’s mother had violent morning sickness too. And I made the tea weak.”  
Mycroft took a moment to check in with his body. When he was done, he said, “I think I’ll be alright now. We should thank our hosts and get going. Everyone will be wondering where we are.”  
“I already called,” Greg said getting up. He reached down to help Mycroft up off the floor. “Uncle Pippen is the one who told me to give you less, not more. He agreed with the saltines and said to get you home quick so that you can rest properly in a bed.”  
Greg fixed Mycroft’s suit taking the time to smooth out any wrinkles.  
“Now you’re right. Now I’m going to take you home and marry you.”  
“The moon will be tonight.”  
“Well,” Greg said smoothing his hands down Mycroft’s enlarged belly. “If you’re not feeling up to it, we’ll wait till tomorrow. The moon will be there for two nights and we both know that I’m not the most gentle.”  
“There’s something to be said for being well fucked by one’s husband.” Mycroft smiled. “Take me home?”  
Greg pulled Mycroft close and held him as they started to walk out.


	7. The Moon

They had agreed that the wedding would be family only.   
Mycroft imagined that it would be very much like the small ceremony that they had in London that made their partnership legal in the eyes of the government. They had met Sherlock and John at Mycroft’s house, now their house. The ceremony was simple. The dinner had been catered by one of the best restaurants in the city. Once they had gotten rid of Sherlock and John, they’d retired to the upstairs bedroom for quite the workout.   
He had visualized Sherlock, John, Uncle Pippen, and Maurice in attendance. He thought that maybe they’d eat rabbit again and then perhaps a few quick photos. What he did not imagine was to ride down the road towards Uncle Pippen’s house and see the massive tent sitting in the center of what had been a few months ago a marijuana field. And a mass of people bustling about with whatever tasks.  
Greg laughed. “Looks like Maurice hunted a boar.”  
“Is that what is cooking in that pit?”  
Greg parked the car behind one of the many vehicles on the property.  
“I thought we agreed to family only?”  
“This is family only.”  
“You’re related to the entire valley?”  
“Not all of it.” Greg smiled handsomely. “Let’s get you inside. A little rest will do you good.”  
Greg got out of the car and opened Mycroft’s door.  
“Greg, what’s going on?” Mycroft asked unsure.  
“Well,” Greg reached in and helped Mycroft out. “My guess would be that Maurice and Pippen have called in a few favors. Probably spread some cash around to give us a nice wedding.”  
Greg wrapped his arm around Mycroft and helped him walk towards the house.   
“The relatives will probably be here soon. Figure 150 people before sunset. The ceremony at eleven. The party will go on until midnight. Then everyone will scatter.”  
“Why?”  
Greg smiled lewdly.  
“Ah, yes. How silly of me. Moon sex.”  
They wandered into the house and were instantly greeted by Pippen. Greg and he embraced warmly.  
But when the man turned his attention to Mycroft it was to put his hand on the large belly.  
“That’s not five months, more like seven!”  
Mycroft smiled. “Or, twins.”  
“What?” the man gasped.  
“We wanted to tell you in person,” Greg said putting and arm around Mycroft.  
“Healthy?” Pippen asked.  
“And very strong,” Mycroft assured. “They kick like footballers every chance imaginable.”  
Mycroft winced as the kicking began. The reached out saying, “Here.”  
“Mon dieu,” Pippen whispered happily as he felt Mycroft’s very active belly.  
“Oh, they are active. Gregory, you were right. I need to rest.”  
“Later. We’ll talk later. Rest is important.” Pippen stroked and petted Mycroft a few times before letting him go.  
They went up the stairs slowly. Mycroft found that he moved most confidently with Gregory than with anyone else. At one point the leaned his head against Greg’s strong shoulder.  
Five steps into the hallway, they ran into John coming out of a room. He looked quite spooked upon seeing them.  
“Oh, finally arrived,” John said.  
Mycroft looked behind the shorter man to find Sherlock passed out and fast asleep.  
“Is he dead?” Mycroft asked astounded.  
“No. It seems that he annoyed some of the locals.” John turned to Gregory and said, “They fed him cherries.”  
Gregory laughed hard.  
Mycroft waited.  
Once sobered, Gregory said, “When you wash a pound of green in an ice cold bottle of Vodka you wind up with Marijuana Vodka that you can soak fruit in. You can’t taste the alcohol. You get high, drunk, and sleepy at the same time.”  
Mycroft’s face became horror filled.  
“He’s fine. He’ll sleep for a few hours and wake up hungry.”  
John petted Mycroft’s arm saying, “I just checked him. His vitals are good. I’ll wake him before the wedding starts.”  
Instead of getting involved, Mycroft thanked John and walked away in search of his own rest. His feet were swollen. His back hurt. And, he simply couldn’t be bothered.   
~~~~~  
The wedding began with a feast. The food was simple, country fare. The roast beast that Maurice had hunted sat at center. Several rabbits had been stewed. And off to the side several large deep water fish had been grilled. Surrounding the meat was a bounty of vegetables prepared in several ways, sauces were served along with a few grain dishes.  
Overall Mycroft found the food clean and settling. He couldn’t eat much at anyone sitting, so he had several small tasting plates of various dishes. He didn’t want to get ill so he tried not to overeat.  
He found it interesting though to watch Sherlock stuff himself with boar and stew. John put several plates in front of the ravenous man who happily ate quite hardily.  
Mycroft could only smile and walk away.  
As part of his host duties Mycroft tried to walk around and greet everyone. He did his best to be pleasant and warm. This was made difficult since a very proud, soon-to-be granduncle Pippen had told everyone of Mycroft’s pregnancy. The crowd was buzzing with news of the twins. And, people wanted to see the pregnant man. They also seemed to want to eat and drink for free before the moon.  
By half passed nine, Mycroft found Greg and Pippen. He didn’t hesitate to complain that he was tired. He asked to have the ceremony moved up. He’d been prepared to argue his point. But found that there was no need.  
It seemed that Greg and Pippen had already discussed the point and the ceremony was moved up without incident.  
There was a minister of sorts. Really the officiation consisted of him standing up and giving a history of local traditions.  
“Once upon a time we worshipped the Goddess Diana, then the black Madonna’s. They’ve called us Merovingian’s, gypsies, thieves: always existing outside of the mainstream. We’ve been persecuted by church authorities, papal armies, and governments. But we always survive because our traditions are what makes us. We’ve been here since before this was France. We were here when the first French King stood up. We’ll be here long after. And nothing is held more sacred than this, the joining of two under the moon. A blessing that unites two souls and two families.”   
For the ceremony itself, the lights were turned off. Candles were lit, just enough to provide a little light. Everyone fell silent. In the center of the Lestrade clan, he and Gregory exchanged vows while holding hands.  
It was terribly simple and intimate at the same time.  
After the people assembled all seemed to speak at the same time as they gushed out congratulations. Those well wishes quickly descended into the chanting of “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!”  
Gregory didn’t hesitate to take Mycroft’s hand and lead Mycroft away.   
They walked away from the tent and people. He put an arm around Mycroft’s waist as he asked, “Are you okay?”  
“Yes. I suppose. Just a little tired.”  
“We aren’t going to go far.”  
Gregory led him around and behind the house.  
“Were it not for the twins. I’d be taking you up to my tree house.”  
“Of course,” Mycroft replied. “Where else would one spend the honeymoon?”  
“You can make all the cute little comments in the world. We both know that I have the coolest tree house ever!”  
“The coolest,” Mycroft said quite deadpan.  
Greg stood quite still and looked at his spouse directly in his eyes. As seriously as possible, he said, “I should fuck you blind and numb for that.”  
“Oh, no. Not that. Anything but that.”  
Greg pulled Mycroft closer and continued.  
“My parents spent their first moon in the back of my father’s truck. He put a mattress in the bed. Blankets, pillows. He even set candles. He complained that he was scraping wax off his truck for weeks.”  
When they rounded the corner of the house Mycroft saw the tent that had been set up.  
“Maurice helped me put a bed inside.”  
“I’m a bit surprised. I thought there simply would have been another ladder up.”  
“Yes, but a bed wouldn’t fit up there. As cool as it is. Tradition dictates that we fuck in as many positions as possible. This means that we need a mattress.”  
“How gallant.”  
They walked into the dark tent.   
“Don’t move,” Greg warned.  
Greg moved away.  
A moment later two strings of white Christmas lights illuminated the area with soft lights. The tent was essentially four sides for privacy and nothing else.   
But the bed was made up nicely.  
Gregory walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around his ever growing body. Greg tucked his face into Mycroft’s neck and breathed in deeply.  
“We have tonight,” Greg murmured. “And we have tomorrow. When we’re done our marriage will be blessed. We’ll have good luck and a long marriage.”  
“I thought we were already rather lucky.”  
“It’ll get better.” Greg stroked the swell where their children rested. “And it’s best not to take chances. Not with our marriage. Not with our children or our family.”  
Mycroft turned and seriously said, “I’ll allow you to fuck me if and only if you remove my shoes. Then, you will undress me.”  
“If I must.” Greg helped Mycroft as he grumbled, “The things that I have to do to get laid. Next, you’re going to want foreplay! Or, lubricant!”  
Mycroft chuckled.  
As Greg undressed him, he kept Mycroft giggly and happy by kissing and occasionally tickling the sensitive places that he uncovered.  
It was laying back as Greg removed his socks that Mycroft said, “It’s sex magic, isn’t it.”  
Greg bent his head so that he could kiss the foot that he’d exposed. He quickly began to massage Mycroft’s feet saying, “I think it’s safe to say that we stick to what we know.”  
“Stubbornness, lurid sex in outside places, and big parties.”  
Greg looked up and said, “You forgot weed, alcohol, and killing things to roast on a spit.”  
“How forgetful of me. Do forgive me, my Wolf.”  
Greg smiled, but said nothing. He continued to rub firmly but gently.  
“It took me a minute or so. Le Loup hasn’t been spotted in some time.” Mycroft got up enough to look over his big belly. “I will be angry for some time you know.”  
“Over which part,” Greg asked gently.  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and put his head back where he’d been comfortable. “Over the part where you decided not to tell me.”  
Greg stopped massaging. “It’s not a job, or anything that I’m proud of. It just sort of happened.”  
“You just sort of became an international assasin?”  
“That was a complete misunderstanding,” Greg insisted. “It was fam-  
“Family business.”  
Greg paused for a moment. After a bit of thought he easily said, “A family shipment was stolen. It would have bankrupted many people in the valley, not just my uncle. Two distant cousins were dead. Their immediate families were understandably upset.”  
“Is that how you wound up in Spain, Germany, and Slovenia?”  
“I followed the cargo. Each person I encountered led me to the next one. Blood for blood,” Greg said seriously. “I took their hands as proof. Sent them home to the grieving. By the time I go to Slovenia there was a response from the people who didn’t want war.”  
“Three country’s, six days, twenty eight bodies, if memory serves.”  
Pippen interceded. It seems that they thought they were taking something from someone else. An easy job. They didn’t expect the response they got. It cost them.”  
Mycroft stared at the stars. “I always thought it was strange. Most simply assume that the Wolf died or went to jail. No one that efficient a killer simply falls off the face of the earth.”  
“He does if he’s going through a divorce while babysitting Sherlock Holmes.”  
Mycroft began the process of rolling over. Gregory immediately reached for his hip and pushed him into place.  
Greg began to massage Mycroft’s lower back.  
“You should have said something,” Mycroft insisted.  
“Alright,” Greg said easily. “Explain to me how _that_ conversation would have begun? Darling, I know that you’re busy being pregnant and miserable, but I’ve decided to lay a lot of ancient history on you. Don’t stress.”  
Mycroft turned to look at the man. Evenly, he said, “Are you trying to give me a permanent headache?”  
Greg fell silent. A moment later, he quietly said, “It’s easy. Sometimes, I really hate just how easy. I want to be a good person.”  
“You are,” Mycroft responded easily. “You are the best man that I know. I wouldn’t have married you if I had doubts. I’m very happy with our marriage, Gregory. I’m also very gassy, and you’re in the line of fire.”  
Greg walked around to the other side of the bed. He took his shoes and socks off because he knew how much it bothered Mycroft when he forgot. And, then he got into bed. He reached out and gently began massaging Mycroft’s belly.  
“I’ll be happy when my digestion is mine alone once again.”  
A moment later, Mycroft made a face and then loudly passed gas.  
“It was the sauce! I always want the béarnaise. Béarnaise is never kind to me.”  
Greg chuckled.  
“It’s not funny,” Mycroft snapped.  
“No,” Gregory agreed. He swallowed his smile. “It’s not funny. And as a dutiful husband I will rub your back and belly for as long as it takes.”  
“And this from a man that doubt’s his humanity.”  
Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft’s hair. “Ulterior motives, my love. I want to fuck you.”  
“So romantic. Rub. I’m still gassy. Let me fart a few times and then we can engage in carnal acts under the magic moon.”  
“I wasn’t hard before, but now I’m really ready.” Greg began to gently massage Mycroft’s abdomen. “You just let me know when.”  
Mycroft passed gas again, then he sighed, “This is going to be a long night.”  
“That is exactly what I was hoping you’d say on our honeymoon.”  
~~~~~  
It was the indirect morning light that woke him. The sun wasn’t up yet. There was only enough light to nudge him into waking.  
The familiar warmth told him that Greg was there at his side. His breathing told him that the man was awake.  
“Did you bother to sleep? Or are you laying there staring at me with creepy eyes?” Mycroft asked without opening his eyes.  
“The creepy eyed staring thing. Also, I rubbed your feet for a while and then your back. I don’t want you sore.”  
Mycroft smiled a bit. “You didn’t hurt me.”  
Mycroft rolled over onto his back. It was a process but he managed it.  
Mycroft took the time to look at his husband in the morning light. “You’re a beautiful man. A good man too.”  
Greg shrugged. “You’re just saying that because I made you come twice a few hours ago.”  
“Well that certainly helps.” Then more seriously, Mycroft said, “I believe that there needs to be a certain amount of moral ambiguity in existence, simply because we are who we are. But when all is said and done, I know that you are a good and descent man. I trust you and want you in my life.”  
Their eyes met.  
Greg held his gaze for a while in silence. Finally, he said, “You want me to rub your feet again, don’t you?”  
“Of course I do! But, that in no way negates what I just said.”  
Greg moved into position and took Mycroft’s left foot in hand. He gently but firmly began his work.   
“You understand that someday Le Loup may be active again. I’d rather not, but you never know what the future brings.”  
“As long as you don’t get caught. Or, hurt. And, you most certainly aren’t allowed to die!”  
Greg bent his head and kissed Mycroft’s toes. “Sir, yes, sir!” he murmured against the long elegant toes. “Are you hungry?”  
“I’m always hungry. Please, don’t change the topic of conversation.”  
“If I don’t, how would I feed you? I must provide for my beautiful spouse that’s carrying our babies.”  
“I worry,” Mycroft said looking up at the brightening sky.  
“Too much. I’m not going to do a single thing without telling you. And as for the other hefty worry inducing mill stone, he has John to keep him level. John will keep him safe. There, no more worry.”   
Greg emphasized his point by pushing his thumb into pressure points.  
Mycroft groaned.   
His head fell back. And he breathed out, “Oh, that’s not fair.”  
“Good. Your job is to worry about nothing, keep the twins nice and warm in their place, and to get bigger.” Greg switched to Mycroft’s other foot. “While we are here, My job is to massage you and provide you with orgasms on request.”  
“I think,” Mycroft said slowly. “That I’m starting to see the wisdom of this plan.”  
“Later we’ll get breakfast. But right now let me work.”  
“Yes, my wolf,” Mycroft said easily as he fell into his husband’s touch. “Do you think your brother will have made it to breakfast?”  
“Unless he and John found the moon inspirational.”  
Mycroft picked up his head and stared in surprise.  
“Come on! You’ve noticed something! Fuck’s sakes, everyone’s noticed!”  
“Well, yes. But, he’s never-  
“Then it’s about time! And this is France. And he was high enough to touch the sky. And, I know they love each other. We can hope.”  
For a time Mycroft didn’t speak, he pondered Greg’s statement.  
After a few quiet moments Greg pulled Mycroft’s toe and shook it.  
“Yes, I was simply trying to envision the ramifications of such a union.”  
“I’d be great,” Gregory insisted. “If nothing else we both know that they’d take care of each other. And let’s face it, Sherlock needs John.”  
“I’ve often worried what might happen if John found a permanent female companion.”  
“Nothing good. I love John, but he picks terrible girlfriends.”   
“Most are quite dull. I always imagined that he did that on purpose.”  
“So that Sherlock’s the main event. Yeah, I’ve seen that too.” Greg bend his head and kissed Mycroft’s foot again. “Either way, they’ll be good uncles.”  
“Now you have me wishing that the moon effects them. I hope that it’s as lucky as you imagine it to be.” Mycroft wiped his eyes. “These hormones. My emotions are getting the better of me.”  
“No. They’re just making you a little softer. And, I hope for the same thing.”  
“I think that I want to go to breakfast now.”  
“Enough sentiment,” Greg agreed.  
“First, I shall eat then spend a few hours with gas and indigestion.”  
“That sounds like a full morning. I’ll nap with you if you don’t mind; that way I’ll be ready for tonight.”  
“And thus a plan is formed. Now, help me up. I currently have no ability to right myself.”  
Greg helped Mycroft to sit up and then kissed his forehead. He bent down and put slippers on Mycroft’s feet. And put a big night shirt over him before tying a robe around him.   
Greg even held the flap open for him.  
Mycroft carefully waddled along as he said, “I can’t believe I have four more months of this. We shall have to invest in a forklift.”  
“You’re not fat,” Greg insisted. “You’re beautiful.”  
Mycroft stopped. He turned to his spouse and said, “I shall require much more of that, my darling.”  
“Good, ‘cause I got plenty,” Greg said circling his arm around Mycroft.   
They started walking together.  
In the next instance, the morning silence was broken by a shrill alarm. The back door to the house opened and smoke billowed out. John stepped out waving a kitchen towel. A moment later, Sherlock ran out with a flaming frying pan which he threw out into the yard.  
“I think breakfast is served,” Mycroft said placidly.  
“I hope that he knows that I want the waffles this morning. Lot’s of syrup.”  
“That sounds good. I think I’ll join you.”

Fin.


End file.
